Angell 



Prize-Contest 
= Recitations = 




Founder of the American Humane Education Society, the Massachusetts Society 
for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and Editor of "Our Dumb Animals." 

J. R. FRANCIS, Chicago, Illinois; 

HUDSON TUTTLE, Berlin Heights, Ohio. Publishers. 

1910 



ANGELL 

Prize-Contest Recitations. 



TO ADVANCE 

Humane Education in all its Phases. 

"NIL DESPERANDUM " 



Compiled to be Used in Entertainments Managed by 

Churches, Societies, Lyceums, Sunday Schools, Bands 

of Mercy, or Individuals Aiming to Establish 

Right Over Wrong, Kindness Over 

Cruelty, Knowledge Over 

Ignorance, and Justice 

Over All. 



By EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 



J. R. Francis, Chicago, Illinois. 
Hudson Tuttle, Berlin Heights, Ohio. 
1910. 



m 



«Bp&;ief«T 



Copyrighted 

By Emma Rood Tuttle. 

1896. 



CONTENTS 



Explanatory 6 

Sympathy S. A. Wildman i i 

Our Foremost Champion Miss Clair Tuttle 14 

The Calf Path Sam W. Foss 18 

My Horse Mary — A Story of Vivisection 

Emma R. Tuttle 21 

Bay Billy — The Riderless Horse That Led a Charge.. 

Frank Gassaway 25 

Working at the Roots Geo. T. Angell 28 

A Band of Mercy Meeting Adapted from 

" Beautiful Joe." 29 

Heartbreak Hill Emma R. Tuttle 35 

Early Lessons in Kindness or Cruelty A. D. Fogg 37 

The Wives of Weinsberg — A Lesson of Fidelity 

Burger 39 

Old Kate Emma R. Tuttle 43 

The Magnitude of Our Work Geo. T. Angell 46 

At the Gate — A Warning to Self- Righteous People. . . . 

J. B. Smiley 48 

Old Dobbin's Last Day's Work From 

"The Strike at Shanes" 51 

The Check-Rein Hudson Tuttle 55 

How Christmas Came to the Poor-House 

Eben E. Rexford 58 

Interest the Children Geo. T. Angell . 61 

A Word for Our Woolly Friends Isabelle C. Barrows 63 

Catching the Colt Marian Douglas 66 

The Boy Who Turned Himself Into a Thistle 

Hudson Tuttle 67 



CONTENTS, 

A Black Eye for Lager Beer and a Bier for Lager. . . 

M. E. Servoss 70 

Saint Charley Emma R. Tuttle 72 

A Kicking Cow E. D. Shaw 7 5 

Scenes in New York Courts Cynthia Leonard 78 

Vivisection and Its Evils .Miss Abby Judson 82 

The Retributive Treatment of Criminals 84 

Saving Mother 87 

The Beer Shop — A Washerwoman's Story 

The Continent 89 

The Horse in War Hudson Tuttle 92 

Who Was to Blame? The Highway Cow? 

Emma R. Tuttle 95 

Three Little Nest Birds 97 

In the Bushel or in the Jug 100 

Overloaded — Why the Quaker Bought a Horse 

Eugene Sue 103 

The Sportsman Emma R. Tuttle 106 

Heroic Animals 107 

The Band of Mercy as an Educational Force Against 

Crime Geo. T. Angell 109 

Dead Birds on Ladies' Hats and Bonnets 

Clair Tuttle 112 
Just Ideas of God and Immortality the Prevention of 

War Geo. T. Angell 115 

The Chieftain and His Dog Adapted 117 

Why Farmer Joseph Forgot His Wife's Errands 

Detroit Free Press 119 

Flash — The Fireman's Story Harper's Magazine 121 

The Animal Convention From 

"The Strike at Shanes." 123 

Blind Dan Emma R. Tuttle 127 

Egypt and Cleo Mary Louise Eve, In 

"Our Animal Friends." 129 

The Nabob's Double Gerald Massey 132 



CONTENTS. 

The kind of Men Cruel Boys Make.. Emma R. Tuttle 133 

My Mother Philadelphia Methodist 136 

An Old Couple from the Country visit the. Orphans. . . 

E. C. Parmelee 137 

Tom Constance Fenimore Woolson 140 

Gray Friar's Bobby Rev. F. M. Todd 141 

Timothy Titus Youth's Companion 142 

The Legend of the Northland Phoebe Cary 145 

Humane Education the Work of the Band of Mercy.. 

Geo. T. Angell 147 

A Good Shot Joseph Kirkland, in St. Nicholas 150 

Court Scene in Chicago Cynthia Leonard 151 

The Panola Herd of Jerseys American Creamery 154 

A Dangerous Ideal Albert Leffingwell, M. D. 155 

Getting Rid of Beauty Joy Allison 158 

Punishing the Innocent for Spite 160 

A Family Quarrel Emma R. Tuttle 163 

Ben Hazzard's Guests 164 

Whoeffer Douches Dot Tog is a Teat Man 

Rev. Charles Joseph Adams 167 

The Chemistry of Character Lizzie Doten 169 

Christel and a Lost Dog Emma R. Tuttle 171 

The Penalty of Forgetfulness 174 

What is Overloading a Horse, and How Proved 

Geo. T. Angell 176 

Sweet Revenge 178 

Praying for Shoes 180 

Premature Burials A. E. Giles, A. M. 182 

Superstitious Cruelty 184 

Kindness to Animals in Schools and Sunday-Schools . . 

Geo. T. Angell 186 

Old Nell Emma R. Tuttle 189 



EXPLANATORY. 

ANGELL PRIZE CONTESTS. 

As a method by which Humane Education may be speedily 
extended among all classes, especially that unthinking class 
afflicted with "the insanity of indifference" to suffering, rather 
than willful cruelty, the contest plan is offered as being most 
efficient. It is in furtherance of a reform so broad that all who 
have the good of their fellow human beings, and of the lower 
races, at heart, may enthusiastically unite their efforts to help 
it along and feel confident that, in doing so, they are ben- 
efiting themselves. A clear gain in happiness is certain to 
those who do all in their power to prevent cruelty, and to 
make all harmless lives comfortable and happy. 

We are constantly in sight of numbers of dumb and help- 
less animals which cannot speak for themselves, although their 
needs and nervous sensibility are scarcely less than our own. 
They feel acutely the pangs of want, but cannot tell their 
needs in articulate language. They suffer and die, but cannot 
accuse their destroyers, nor tell their wrongs. Their gaunt 
forms, their pain-saddened eyes, their wear) 7 movements, their 
unnatural restlessness, speak, if we were quick to understand 
the pathetic language, of needs unsupplied, of hard tasks, of 
irregular care, of the indescribable irritations to which slaves, 
whether man or beast, are subject. It is better to reform these 
things by enlightening than by censure and accusation, for if 
people understand aright they will not be slow to act righteously. 
Knowledge is the angel which will unlock our virtues, and make 
us just to one another, and to every living creature. 

George T. Angell, in speaking of the needs of the hour, 
says: 

" Great and dangerous conflicts between capital and labor 
are threatened. Crimes of violence and a spirit of lawlessness 
have grown alarmingly in the past two decades. 

"The coming conflicts must be fought in one of two ways: 
Either mercifully with ballots and other humane measures, or 
brutally with bullets, incendiary fires, and all those destructive 



EXPLANATORY. 

appliances which modern science has put into the hands of 
those who are being educated to use them. 

"Those who* are to fight these battles, on one side or the 
other, are in our schools to-day, and we are educating them. 

"The quickest and most hopeful way of reaching the 
masses and leading them to settle political and social questions 
in merciful ways, is through immediate and widespread 
humane education." 

The Angell Prize Contests suit the public taste, as there 
is great predilection for competitive work, and the excitement' 
of witnessing the tournament, and the award, is quite irresist- 
ible, always calling out a large audience, ready to receive the 
ideas advanced by the Various speakers and, it is hoped, put 
them into practice afterwards. 

All churches, societies, lyceums and Sunday-schools must, 
if successful, furnish work for the young people to do. The 
Angell Prize Contests are most engaging, and beneficent in 
their results. They are easily managed and exert a lasting in- 
fluence for good. In order to test the plan and the amount of 
interest which could be awakened by carrying it out, a trial 
contest was held at Berlin Heights, Ohio, November 2, 1895, 
with great success in every particular. It was pronounced by 
" the consensus of the competent " to be one of the best enter- 
tainments ever held in the town (and Berlin Heights is called a 
live place), being educational and uplifting intellectually and 
morally. 

HOW WE MANACED OUR ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST. 

We announced through our local newspapers that a con- 
test to advance Humane Education would be organized, and, 
to add to the interest, a prize would be awarded to the best 
speaker. We offered an engraved silver cup. There was im- 
mediate interest aroused. We called on such young people as 
we thought would do good work, with proper training, and readily 
got eight contestants to enter the list. They were from different 
churches, schools, societies, etc- , and all united by their love 
of the cause; but they worked like Trojans to win the prize. 

We used the following bill to advertise, together with 
lithographs of George T. Angell, keeping up notes in the 
newspapers about it, through correspondents, to whom we 
gave complimentaries. We employed the proprietors to do 
our printing, so they helped us by putting in notices. 



The /Vngell Prize Contest 



To Advance 



Humane Education, 

Will Take Place 

Saturday Evening, Nov. 2, 1895. at the 

Opera House, Berlin Heights, Ohio. 

Commencing at 8 o'clock, 



AN ELEGANT SILVER MEDAL will be awarded to the 

best speaker. A Class of Eight Contestants, who have been 

under special training, will recite on the following subjects: 

Heroic Animals. Sweet Revenge. Old Dobbin's 

Last Day's Work. Murdered Birds on Ladies' 

Hats and Bonnets. Timothy Titus. 

The Animal Convention. 

Poor-House Nan. My Horse Mary; A Story of Vivisection. 



Three Competent Judaea Wiff Decide the Tournament. 



The Program will be interspersed with vocal and instru- 
mental music, light comedy, etc. A short talk on the object 
of Humane Education will be given to introduce the contest. 



We Solicit Your Attendance and Influence. 



Admission, 10 and 20 Cents. 



EXPLANATORY. 




For Information About the Prize Contests and Bands of 
Mercy , Apply to Dr. Francis H. Rowley, President of the Amer- 
ican Humane Education Society, 45 flilkSt., Boston, Mass. 



[From November, 1896, Our Dumb Animals.] 
ANCELL PRIZE CONTESTS IN HUMANE SPEAKING. 

Mrs. Emma Rood Tuttle, of Berlin Heights, Ohio, writes us of 
great success she is having with these prize contests of humane speak- 
ing and recitations— large audiences and great enthusiasm— and we 
received this morning a copy of a beautiful silver prize medal which 
is one of the prizes given. 

The plan is this : Some large church or public hall is secured, sev- 
eral schools or Sanday-schools are invited to send their best speaker 
to compete for the prize medal; some prominent citizen presides; other 
prominent citizens act as the committee of award, and a small admis- 
sion fee, ten or twenty cents, pays all the costs, and perhaps leaves a 
handsome -balance for the local humane society or "Band of Mercy." 

We have a book of 192 pages, describing the plan and containing 
beautiful selections to be used by the speakers and reciters. 

Our "American Humane Education Society" will send the book, 
postage paid, on receipt of 16 cents in stamps or otherwise. 

Every school taking part in the prize contest wants to attend, so 
do parents and friends: good music is added, and a full audience is in- 
sured—the whole evening being devoted to the presentation of humane 
selections in competition for the prize or prizes offered. 

We should not wonder if this plan started in Ohio should extend 
all over our country and in thousands of cities and towns, result in 
great profit to our humane work. 

"Frais&God from whom all blessings flow." 



INSTRUCTIONS TO JUDGES. 

The scale of marking is from 10 to i, ten being perfect. 
The speakers are known only by numbers, (ist column.) 
Mark each under the different headings, and carry the amount 
to last column. To get the average of each contestant add his 
or her numbers together and divide by 3, the number of judges. 
The one getting the highest average receives the reward. An- 
nounce to audience in the presentation remarks. 



fl 



fc 






SYMPATHY. 

BY S. A. WILDMAN. 

Every animate being is to itself the center of the universe. 
Every man's eyes have their own horizon-circle, and the man 
stands in the very middle of it. The farther away from him 
things are, the smaller are they in his vision. The distant 
forests are but a purple, feathery fringe along the arc; the stars 
are but points of light of as little consequence as a farthing 
candle. To each man's mind, suns and planets, clusters and 
nebnlae, are revolving around him. All things are for his 
benefit. What ministers to his happiness is good, and what 
causes him sorrow is evil. His body winces from the pricking 
of a pin in itself, but not a sword-stab in the body of another. 

But one's individuality is not a prison from which there is 
no escape into a world of light and sunshine outside of itself. 
A prison, indeed, it may be, but a prison whose iron-barred 
door has a golden key. That key is sympathy. 

As incomprehensible as self is sympathy. It is the feeling 
what another feels; the seeing with his eyes; the thinking his 
thoughts; the hoping what he hopes; the fearing what he 
fears; the entering for a time, indeed, into the very tabernacle 
of his life. By means of sympathy we make of our individual- 
ity a garment which we put off at will, that we may don the 
individuality of another. 

Sympathy is the softener of hearts, which, without it, 
were as hard as flint; the warmer of hearts, which, without it, 
were cold as ice. It is the bearer of the good Samaritan's oil to the 
wounds of the stricken wayfarer. It brings sorrow to the soul 
and tears to the eyes of a Christ for the sorrow and the tears of a 
Mary, the sister of dead Lazarus. By its power it relieved Othel- 
lo's bitterness of grief, the desolation of forsaken King Lear, 
and the silent sadness of Enoch Arden is borne to thousands 
upon thousands of tender human hearts. 

Thus sorrows are divided and their burden lightened, for 
it is easier to bear your own pain if you know that others share 
it. The homely adage is a trite, because a true one, that 
"misery loves company." It is not that it is a comfort to 
know that others suffer; but it is an alleviation of our burden 



12 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

to know that there are those who can perfectly understand 
what we are feeling, because they feel a kindred sorrow. 

It is not alone the lightening of grief that is wrought by 
sympathy. Its eyes are not always dim with the tears of pity, 
but they are bright with reflected joy. As the sunlight gilds 
the moon with a radiance, which is sent back mellowed by 
distance, so lent joy is not lost, but is ever returned. 

By sympathy joys are heightened and hopes are multiplied; 
and herein lies much of its value. Strange paradox! By shar- 
ing your sorrow with another, you lessen it; by sharing your 
gladness, you are made more glad! Were you ever alone upon 
a height, where a varied landscape of beauty which no words 
could describe was spread before you, that your first feeling 
was not a wish for the companionship of some loved one, to 
share with you the delight of the place? Had you ever a 
secret, bitter sorrow, that your heart did not well nigh burst 
for some one to whom you could confide it? O, the gall of 
secret sorrow! It must have been the loss of all to share her 
tears that dried the eyes and petrified the heart of Niobe, bereft 
of sons and daughters. 

Out of sympathy spring, all or well nigh all, the virtues, 
and from its absence all, or nearly all, the vices and the crimes. 
The sympathetic men are the world's philanthropists; the 
Howards, the Berghs and the Angells. The selfish men are 
its Neros and Caligulas. The one class love the world, and 
serve it; the other love themselves, and prey on all the world 
beside. 

Is not selfishness, which is another name for inordinate 
self-love, by which the good of others is forgotten, the root of 
all the evils against which penal laws are aimed? Who would 
commit arsons and larcenies and murders, if every man's heart 
were full of a due regard for the well being and the rights of 
others? And as selfishness is a dark fountain from which the 
whole stream of evil seems to flow, its waters noxious as those 
of the infernal river Styx, sympathy is the spring whence the 
shining river of all good takes its rise. 

Without unselfishness there would be no such things as 
love, charity, kindness, pity, and a host of kindred tender 
emotions of the heart. Without selfishness r there could be no 
envyings and jealousies, strifes and bickerings, with their kin; 
no greedy covetousness, with all its attendant mischief to men. 



RECITATIONS. 13 

Perhaps it is impossible for us to tell whether sympathy is 
the prerogative of mankind. The dog feels his own hurt; but 
does he feel the hurts of his fellows? I do not know, but of 
this I am sure: that men among themselves differ greatly in 
their capacity to lay aside self and feel the joys and sorrows, 
hopes and fears of others; and the higher the degree in which 
the power is held, the nobler the man. 

Sympathy, in its perfect development, is far reaching as 
the universe. It makes us feel akin to the unknown inhabit- 
ants of planetary and stellar worlds, stretching in groups and 
systems into infinite distance. 

Blot sympathy, with all its kindred attributes of head and 
heart, from the universe! Put on again the steel helmet, mail 
and gauntlet of selfishness. Turn an unhearing ear and a 
stony heart to the appeals of the widow and the fatherless. 
Despise the weakness of the man tempted beyond his strength, 
and stretch him no friendly hand to lift him upon his feet. 
Give all your soul to chasing your own fleeing happiness, until 
you shall find that it is but a phantom that lures you. Naught 
to you now are the woe of Othello, the desolation of Lear, or 
the tears of Niobe. Your eyes are dry, your hands cold, and 
your heart hard. Greedy selfishness is the only motor of the 
universe. Love is unthought of. There are no such things as 
pity, charity and kindness. Justice is rendered to him only 
who holds the power to enforce his claims, and the poor and 
the weak are ground to powder. Homes are desolated and 
hearts are broken pitilessly. There is in all the universe of 
worlds no commiserating sigh, no sympathetic teardrop. All 
the warm stream of the affections has been frozen like an 
Alpine glacier, which moves along its course crushing and 
grinding resistlessly. After a life of desolate drifting through 
such a universe as that, a dying soul might cry out with the 
Ancient Mariner, looking back upon times and scenes of un- 
utterable loneliness: 

" Alone, alone, all, all alone, 

Alone on a wide, wide^sea — . 
And never a saint took pity on 

My soul in agony. 



14 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

"O, Wedding Guest, this soul hath been 

Alone on a wide, wide sea — 
So lonely 'twas, that God himself 

Scarce seemed there to be." 

As sympathy is far-reaching, so it is all-embracing. The 
man who steps over a crawling worm with a passing thought 
that he will cause no needless pain to any creature, is a better 
man than he who takes a shorter, easier step, and thereby 
blots out a harmless, and it may be a happy life. I have much 
faith in the religion of tender-hearted men. I believe that 
loving kindness is a truer yardstick than wordy professions of 
piety, wherewith to measure a man's character. As said the 
same Ancient Mariner to the Wedding Guest: 

" Farewell! farewell! but this I tell 

To thee, thou Wedding Guest! 
He prayeth well who loveth well 

Both man and bird and beast. 

" He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things, both great and small; 

For the dear God who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all." 



OUR FOREMOST CHAMPION. 

BY CLAIR TUTTLE. 

George T. Angell is not only the champion of the rights 
of animals, he is most emphatically the champion of Right 
against Wrong in the broadest field; and wherever there is suf- 
fering and oppression, wherever the weak need support, the 
voiceless an exponent, he has failed not, however unpopular 
the cause might be. He is best known, known the world over, 
as the promoter of the humane movement for the protection 
of animals. Before him, in many places, if animals were con- 
sidered as having any rights, it was after a misty fashion, and 
if anyone spoke in their behalf it was with an apology. Ani- 
mals had no rights -man was bound to respect, and the owner 
could whip or starve, over-drive or over-work, and it was only 
his own business, spoken of as a loss in dollars and cents, but 
not as a crime. 



RECITATIONS. 15 

George T. Angell was born at Southbridge, Mass., June 5, 
1823. His father, Rev. George Angell, was a devoted clergy- 
man, and his mother, Rebecca Thorndike Angell, a woman 
distinguished for charitable deeds and religious devotion. 
Great and good men have great and good mothers, and doubt- 
less to her influence her son owes much of that sensitiveness 
aid abhorrence of cruelty and wrong which have given form 
and direction to his life. His father's death while he was yet a 
child, and a loss of property, obliged his mother to engage in 
teaching, and make other efforts to carry out her determination 
to give her son a college education. Thus assisted, and by 
his own efforts, he meritoriously graduated at Dartmouth Col- 
lege in 1846, and with his mother's blessing started for Boston 
to seek a fortune. During three years he taught in that city 
and studied law, being admitted to the bar in 1851. He 
entered into partnership with Hon. Samuel E. Sewell, an em- 
inent lawyer, and became very successful. 

In 1868 his attention was more strongly than before called 
to the cruelty practiced on animals by a forty-five-mile race 
from Worcester to Boston, in which two valuable contesting 
horses were driven to death. He found there was no law in 
Massachusetts to prevent such barbarity. He investigated the 
field of cruelty, and was appalled by its horrors. A less cour- 
ageous heart might have been discouraged, but for him it 
furnished the needed incentive. Turn where he would he 
found wanton, thoughtless cruelty. The transportation of 
animals was most barbarous. The markets were scenes of 
shocking cruelty. Horses starved, lame, diseased or galled 
were whipped along the streets without protest. There was 
no one to speak for the suffering animals of Massachusetts, 
and no suitable law for their protection. There were no public 
drinking fountains in Boston for animals. 

Hearing that Henry Bergh had started a society in New 
York, he said, "Somebody must take hold of this business, 
and I might as well as anybody." 

He took hold with that persistency, that indomitable cour- 
age, that complete absorption in and devotion to his work, 
that marks the hero of all great movements and assures suc- 
cess. 

His lucrative law practice had to yield to the necessities 
of the great work. His legal knowledge became invaluable in 



i6 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

drafting laws, and in the details of his work. It was a provi- 
dential preparation. 

Yet unlike many reformers who see only in law the great 
panacea, he saw that enactments only gave small temporary 
relief until public sentiment could be aroused and people ed- 
ucated out of cruelty. His founding of the American Humane 
Education Society was for that purpose. He edited and pub- 
lished "Our Dumb Animals," the first journal of its kind 
devoted to that cause in the world, with 200,000 copies as its 
first issue, and circulated tracts and leaflets by the millions. 
He gave addresses wherever the way opened or there was a 
call. He journeyed to England and the continent, and awak- 
ened the societies there to greater effort. His addresses on 
general cruelty to animals, before legislatures, universities, 
union meetings of churches and many conventions were the 
first ever given on that subject before such audiences in this 
country or the world. His work in England led to the begin- 
ing of that new order of chivalry, "the blessed Band of 
Mercy." His labors have not been confined to the welfare 
of animals alone. He has been wide awake to wrongs and in- 
justice everywhere. The adulteration of foods, the labor 
question, strikes, war and many other important subjects have 
enlisted his labors. He has given nearly thirty years of his 
life to humane work. He has caused to be sent out millions 
of humane publications, and to be formed more than twenty- 
four thousand "Bands of Merc)'." From his efforts many 
stringent laws have been enacted for the protection of animals, 
and many societies formed in large towns, cities and elsewhere. 
His plan of work as clearly stated by himself is as follows: 

"To humanely educate the American people for the pur- 
pose of stopping every form of cruelty, both to human beings 
and the lower animals. That is my object." 

How he proposes to do it: 

"1 st. By enlisting the teachers of every State and Ter- 
ritory to carry humane instructions into all American public 
and private schools. 

" 2d. By enlisting the educational, religious, and secular 
press of the country to help form a public sentiment which 
•will tend to check cruelty of every kind. 

"3d. By enlisting the Protestant and Roman Catholic 



RECITATIONS. 17 

clergy of the country in efforts to unite religious and humane 
education in all their churches and Sunday schools. 

"4th. By sending humane information, and the gems of 
humane literature, pictures, songs, and stories, through the 
press and otherwise, as I have been sending < Our Dumb Ani- 
mals' and 'Black Beauty,' all over this country. 

" 5th. By the employment of missionaries, forming * Hu- 
mane Societies' and hundreds of thousands of 'Bands of 
Mercy' in schools, Sunday schools, and elsewhere, similar to 
those we have already formed. 

"6th. By showing the millions of American youth, in 
ways too numerous to be mentioned in this statement, that 
every kind word they speak or kind act they do makes their 
own lives happier, and better prepares them for what may 
come after. 

'•'7th. By building up in our colleges, schools and else- 
where a spirit of chivalry and humanity, which shall in com- 
ing generations substitute ballots for bullets, prevent anarchy 
and crime, protect the defenseless, maintain the right, and 
hasten the coming of peace on earth and good will to every 
harmless living creature, both human and dumb." 

To him we are not only indebted for a more humane re- 
gard for animals, but also a general uplifting to a higher and 
purer moral atmosphere. The pigeon-shoot, the dog-fight 
and the prize-ring have been abolished or are less frequent; and 
for the suffering poor there has been a wider and deeper sense 
of justice and right. He has blessed not only the animal 
world, but the whole world of humanity. 

What he has been striving to do is well expressed in his 
own eloquent words: 

"We must have the religious, the intellectual and the 
humane combined. The churches must preach humanity as 
well as Christianity, and the schools must teach it, and the 
press must carry it where neither churches nor schools can. 
There is no getting rid of this question, and we have no time 
to lose. The coming generation is coming fast; and we must 
make them good citizens, or they will make us a bad nation. 
You may go into all the schools and homes with book and 
picture, and song and story, and make the children humane; 
or you may cause them to grow up cruel, inhumane, culti- 
vating the bad passions, and they will avenge themselves 



i8 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

upon society. You may take the boy in our streets to-day, and 
make him a great good man, or you may leave him to become a 
great bad one; but the difference maybe the difference between 
peace and war, national prosperity and national ruin. My 
friend, throw aside all mercy for dumb animals; suppose there 
were no law to protect them, no penalty for their abuse, no 
redress for them in this world, and no hope in the next; throw 
aside all sanitary, financial, and moral considerations; sup- 
pose even that you are an atheist, and do not believe there 
ever was a God: still I say, if you claim to be a good citizen, 
if you regard the future welfare of your country, you must pro- 
vide for the humane education of its children; and that is the 
grandest feature of our work." 



THE CALF PATH. 

BY EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 



How often, in the working for the advancement of humane 
education is one convinced of the dogged tenacity with 
which people persist in following crooked paths. Point out 
their disadvantages and they say, "Oh! yes, I know it is 
crooked," but still they keep on wasting time, and throwing 
away good strength instead of straightening the path. 

Because somebody, long ago, had a horse with a defective 
eye and wished to hide it, which he did by putting blinders on 
the harness, men have gone on following his bad and cruel ex- 
ample, until many people think a horse is not safe to drive 
without them. One of my neighbors owns a horse, "Old 
Bije," which is blind because his owner would follow the calf- 
path of the man who invented blinders. Bije has very prom- 
inent eyes, and close-fitting blinders come in too close contact 
with the dear old fellow's visual organs. His owner was a 
kind man, and would not have injured him wilfully, but he 
would follow a crooked calf-path! So Bije suffers in conse- 
quence. 

Some vain person, who wanted to cut a dash at his horse's 
expense, invented check reins, over-checks, and the like. So 
thousands upon thousands of well-intentioned people follow 
the over-check calf-path, and the speechless suffer. 



RECITATIONS. 19 

At a time when brute force was thought to be the only- 
agent with which to manage animals somebody made a crooked 
calf-path about breaking colts. "Whip, and subdue with 
pain," was the route laid out. "Make the horse fear you 
more than anything else," was always the medicine recom- 
mended by the old-time horse-breakers. It is so hard to get 
people to leave that old calf-path and take the road which 
leads to success by educating animals, gently, until they know 
what is wanted of them. Then they are your friends. 

We find men following crooked calf-paths which have been 
laid down about food and drink — especially the latter. Ani- 
mals know when they have enough, and no two require exactly 
the same amount. Let them drink often and all they want. 
They know what water they need better than you do, and if 
allowed to drink frequently will not hurt themselves. No ani- 
mal can be kept in good condition which is stinted as to drink. 
But to fix these things in your minds, and to make you get out 
of the way of following bad examples, let me recite to you Sam 
Foss' happy hit. 

THE CALF PATH. 

One day through the primeval wood 

A calf walked home, as good calves should, 

But made a trail all bent askew, 
A crooked trail, as all calves do. 

Since then two hundred years have fled, 
And, I infer, the calf is dead. 

But still he left behind his trail, 
And thereby hangs my moral tale. 

The trail was taken up next day 
By a lone dog that passed that way; 

And then a wise bell-wether sheep 
Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep, 

And drew the flock behind him, too, 
As good bell-wethers always do. 

And from that day o'er hill and glade 
Through those old woods a path was made. 

And many men wound in and out, 
And dodged and turned and bent about, 



20 ANGELL PRIZE^CONTEST 

And uttered words of righteous wrath 
Because 'twas such a crooked path; 

But still they followed — do not laugh — 
The first migrations of that calf; 

And thro' this winding woodway stalked, 
Because he wobbled when he walked. 

This forest path became a lane 

That bent and turned and turned again; 

This crooked lane became a road 
Where many a poor horse with his load 

Toiled on beneath the burning sun, 
And traveled some three miles in one. 

And thus a century and a half 
They trod the footsteps of that calf. 

The years passed on in swiftness fleet, 
The road became a village street, 

And this, before men were aware, 
A city's crowded thoroughfare. 

And soon the central street was this 
Of a renowned metropolis. 

And men two centuries and a half 
Trod in the footsteps of that calf. 

Each day a hundred thousand rout 
Followed this zigzag calf about; 

And o'er his crooked journey went 
The traffic of a continent. 

A hundred thousand men were led 
By one calf near three centuries dead. 

They followed still his crooked way 
And lost one hundred years a day. 

For thus such reverence is lent 
To well established precedent. 

A moral lesson this might teach, 
Were I ordained and called to preach. 

For men are prone to go it blind 
Along the calf-paths of the mind; 



RECITATIONS. 21 

And work away from sun to sun 
To do what other men have done. 

They follow in the beaten track, 
And out and in, and forth and back, 

And still their devious course pursue 
To keep the path that others do. 

But how the wise old wood-gods laugh: 
Who saw the first primeval calf. 

Ah, many things this tale might teach — 
But I am not ordained to preach. 



MY HORSE MARY— A STORY OP VIVISECTION. 

BY EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 

When you were a boy, did you ever own a colt? Do you 
remember how proud you were of it? Do you remember how 
you loved it and how it loved you? 

The years since then may have brought you many treas- 
ures and many losses, but you will never forget that colt you 
owned in boyhood. 

You will never forget how, when it first stood by its 
mother's side on its long, clumsy legs, your father, just to 
tease you, told you "'Twasn't good for anything, 'cause its 
legs were so long it could never get its nose to the ground to 
eat! " Surely it looked that way, but you didn't believe him. 
You felt sure that colt would come out all right, and that you 
should probably ride off to war on its back when you got to be 
a man. And you thought how fine you should look with a 
feather in your hat and a sword by your side — that colt a horse 
then — prancing so 3 7 ou could hardly sit in the saddle. 

You remember it all; and you will sympathize with me in 
my sad experience with my colt. 

My father gave her to me. She was black and shiny, as 
if covered with patent leather, except that she had a white face 
and two white feet. 

I named her Mary, because I had an aunt, whom I deemed 
perfection, who bore that name, and I wanted to compliment 
her; so I named my colt after her, and she sent it an embroid- 



22 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

ered blanket, just to please me. Bless my dear aunt Mary! 
She has gone to her rest, and so has my colt Mary. Aunt 
Mary died with consumption, nursed with care. But the horse 
Mary — you should hear how she died. 

She grew, and I grew. At last she was large enough to 
be educated to drive. This my father and I did kindly. We 
taught her gently how to wear the harness, the disagreeable 
bit, and to pull the wagon. It was a pretty one with yellow 
wheels, and Mary, hitched up before it, made a showy turnout. 

One day my father and I were driving in the streets of 
Philadelphia, when a queer-looking fellow, whom pa said was 
a dude, called out: 

"Fahmah! fahmah! Do you want to sell that hoss? 
Weally, she's a beauty." 

"She belongs to me," said I promptly, "and I don't want 
to sell her, but I may be obliged to. I would not say to-day 
that I will or not." 

" Is she bwoke to the saddle? She'd be jolly for a cantah 
with the boys, don't you know." 

"Yes, she is a fine saddle horse. I ride her nearly every 
day." 

Father started on. 

"Fahmah! fahmah!" cried dudie, waving his hand, 
"wheah could I find you — next week, don't you know? 
Maybe the Gov and I will dwive out to make you an offah, 
don't you know." 

My father told him where we lived, and drove on. 

My mother had been ill all summer, and was threatened 
with consumption. The doctor said it was certain if she re- 
mained north during the winter. 

Prices were low and money slow coming in. My father 
had not the money to send mother south unless I sold my 
horse. 

So it came to this: Would I sell Mary to save mother? I 
cried all night. How could I sell her, and how could I let 
mother die? 

Of course I said: "Father, we will let her go. Mother 
must be saved." 

The next week out came the dude with his father, a rich 
old man, to buy my Mary. He was willing to give a fancy 
price, and paid $300 for her. 



RECITATIONS. 23 

Before she went I told him her name, and that I hoped 
he would feed and water her plentifully. 

"Do hosses need drink? I should think it must be vwerry 
little, as it must be only wahtah. Dwinking wahtah is not like 
taking coffee, with evah so much nice cweam in it, you know 
— or chocolate — or wine; ah, now! Do you think she will 
weally like wahtah — just flat wahtah?" 

"Oh, yes!" I said. "She is a free drinker, and will die 
without it." 

He only said: "Awh! " 

My heart was sick, but I made myself believe the servants 
would care for her if her silly master did not know her needs. 

I think that night was one of the saddest of my life. I tried 
to be cheerful, but I thought only of Mary, my beautiful 
horse. 

I saw so many ill-used horses about me — so many sick 
ones, I thought I would like to be a veterinary surgeon, that 1 
might benefit them. 

This idea did not leave me. I kept fo it, and resolved to 
begin study the next year, or as soon as I could have the nec- 
essary means, without feeling that I was taking from mother's 
comfort and medical aid. 

I had an acquaintance who was studying in the veterinary 
department of the University of Pennsylvania. He was an ad- 
vanced student, and knowing my interest, offered to take me 
in the class with him. 

I joyfully accepted his invitation, expecting to hear a reg- 
ular examination of students, instead of witnessing operations 
of the most revolting character. 

Vivisection is the dissection of living animals. I was to 
see it in all its heartless cruelty. 

The door was unlocked to permit us to enter, and locked 
again when we were within. The windows were far above the 
ground, so as to prevent the curious from looking in. 

A horse was before us, tied by a halter. It was my horse, 
Mary, which had been sold to the brainless dude; such diminu- 
tive specimens of men never ought to own anything more sen- 
sitive than a saw-horse or a horse radish! 

As we passed to our seats my horse knew me; she gave an 
affectionate whinny. I could not help stepping to her head, 
patting her and expressing my love for her. She laid her head 



24 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

on my shoulder, and seemed full of dumb joy. I did not then 
know what awaited her. If I had, I might have been frenzied 
enough to have attacked the animated human machine, known 
as the French professor, who directed the experiments. 

No anaesthetics of any kind were given to the horse; noth- 
ing to deaden the pain of the clumsy cutting into the live flesh 
by the inexperienced students. The first pupil was told to 
drive a seton into the shoulder of the horse; a very painful 
operation. 

Another was ordered to perform tracheotomy, making an 
opening into the windpipe; a third, to drive a seton into the 
hind flank; a fourth, to dissect the various nerves of the foot. 

Mary kept looking to me with agony in her beautiful eyes. 
And I could not help her! She was not mine! She had been 
purchased by the students for martyrdom to the august cause 
of science. She was a dumb victim to the most damnable and 
unnecessary mode of education. 

She had been "hobbled," so that she could not move, 
before the foot dissection was commenced, and lay in pain and 
blood as one after another cut was directed by the professor. 

At last the demonstrations were finished, and I thought, 
'mow she will be killed, and all will be over." 

Eagerly I asked the professor: " What is now to be done 
with the animal?" 

"Oh," he answered flippantly, "we leave her here, and if 
she is alive in the morning we go on with other experimenta- 
tions. If an animal which is being vivisected lives, sixty-four 
operations are performed on each one. Twelve horses are 
operated on each week." 

I wanted to kill him! I felt that I must kill Mary and stop 
her agony. Begging that mercy was of no avail. She was not 
mine. I must be calm if efficient. I went out quietly after 
the class, but made an excuse to my friend that I had forgotten 
something, and must go back. He gained entrance, and I put 
a revolver to Mary's head and killed her. I killed her because 
I loved her. I put my fingers over my friend's lips and said 
only this: "You understand." He never told of the merciful 
release I gave my first pet — my "black beauty." 

I have never loved the world nor man as well since I saw 
the depth of cruelty which vivisection reveals. 

I learned the dude, with some other "swells" got drunk 



RECITATIONS. 25 

and drove Mary until she was spoiled for use. So she was 
purchased for the vivisectors' knives. 

The night I shot Mary I pledged myself to the cause of 
humane education. I will work for it as long as I live. Do 
you wonder? And will not you join your efforts to mine to 
speed on the work of Humane Education. 



BAY BILLY. 

BY FRANK GASSAWAY. 



[ The riderless horse which led the Twenty-second Maine 
in a charge at Fredericksburg.] 

You may talk of horses of renown, what Goldsmith Maid has 

done. 
How Dexter cut the seconds down, and Fellowcraft's great 

run — 
Would you hear about a horse that once a mighty battle won? 

'Twas the last fight at Fredericksburg — perhaps the day you 

reck — 
Our boys — the Twenty-second Maine — kept Early's men in 

check, 
Just when Wade Hampton boomed away, the fight went neck 

and neck. 

All day we held the weaker wing, and held it with a will, 
Five several stubborn times we charged the battery on the 

hill. 
And five times beaten back, reformed, and kept our columns 

still. 

At last from out the center fight spurred up a general's aid. 
" That battery must silenced be! " he cried as past he sped. 
Our colonel simply touched his cap, and then with measured 
tread, 

To lead the crouching line once more the grand old fellow 
came; 



26 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

No wounded man but raised his head and strove to gasp his 

name. 
And those who could not speak nor stir" God blessed! " him 

just the same. 

For he was all the world to us, that hero gray and grim, 
Right well he knew that fearful slope we'd climb with none 

but him, 
Though while his white head led the way we'd charge hell's 

portals in. 

This time we were not half-way up, when, midst storm and 

shell, 
Our leader, with his sword upraised, beneath our colors fell. 
And, as we bore him back, the foe set up a joyous yell. 

Our hearts went with him — back we swept, and when the bugle 

said, 
" Up, charge! " again, no man was there but hung his dogged 

head — 
" We've no one left to lead us now," the sullen soldiers said. 

Just then before the laggard line the colonel's horse we 

spied — 
" Bay Billy," with his trappings on, his nostrils swelling wide, 
As though still on his gallant back the master sat astride. 

Right royally he took the place that was of old his wont, 
And with a neigh that seemed to say above the battle's brunt, 
" How can the Twenty-second charge if I am not in front! " 

Like statues rooted there we stocd, and gazed a little space, 
Above that floating mane we missed the old familiar face, 
But we saw " Bay Billy's " eye of fire, and it gave us heart of 
grace. 

No bugle call could rouse us all as that brave sight had done. 
Down all the battered line we felt a lightning impulse run. 
Up! up! the hill we followed "Bill " and captured every gun! 

And when upon the conquered height died out the battle's hum, 



RECITATIONS. 27 

Vainly 'mid living and the dead we sought our leader dumb. 
It seemed as if a specter steed to win that day had come. 

And then once more with banners gay the troops stood on 

parade, 
Trimly upon the furrowed field stretched out the long brigade, 
And bravely 'mid the ranks were closed the gaps the fight had 

made. 

Not half the Twenty-second's men formed that torn field upon, 
For Corp'ral Dick, who yester noon stood six brave fellows 

on. 
Now touched my elbow in the ranks, for all between were 

gone. 

Ah! who forgets that dreary hour when, as with misty eyes, 
To call the old familiar roll the solemn sergeant tries, 
One feels the thumping of the heart as no prompt voice re- 
plies. 

And, as in falt'ring tone and slow the last few names were 

said. 
Across the field some missing horse toiled up with weary 

tread. 
It caught the sergeant's eye, and quick " Bay Billy's " name he 

read. 

Yes! there the old bay hero stood, all safe from battle's 

harm. 
And ere an order could be heard, or the bugle's quick alarm, 
Down all the front, from end to end, the troops presented 

arm! 

Not all the shoulder-straps on earth could still our mighty 
cheer, 

And ever from that famous day when rang our roll-call 
clear, 

" Bay Billy's" name was read, and then the whole line an- 
swered "Here! " 



ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 



WORKING AT THE ROOTS. 

Extract from Mr. Angell's Address to the Annual Meet- 
ing of "The National Association of Superintend- 
ents of Public Schools," at Washington, D. C, Feb- 
ruary 14, 1884. 

"Nearly all the criminals of the future, the thieves, burg- 
lars, incendiaries and murderers, are now in our public schools, 
and with them the greater criminals who commit national 
crimes. They are in our public schools now, and we are ed- 
ucating them. We can mould them now if we will. To illus- 
trate the power of education: We know that we can make the 
same boy Protestant, Roman Catholic or Mohammedan. It is 
simply a question of education. We may put into his little 
hands, as first toys, whips, guns and swords, or may teach him, 
as the Quakers do, that war and cruelty are crimes. We may 
teach him to shoot the little song-bird in springtime, with its 
nest full of young, or we may teach him to feed the bird 
and spare its nest. We may go into the schools now with 
book, picture, song and story, and make neglected boys merci- 
ful, or we may let them drift, until, as men, they become suffi- 
ciently lawless and cruel to throw our railway trains off the 
track, place dynamite under our dwelling houses or public 
buildings, assassinate our President, burn half our city, or in- 
volve the nation in civil war. 

"Is it not largely, if not wholly, a question of education? 

"I am sometimes asked, * Why do you spend so much of 
your time and money in talking about kindness to animals, 
when there is so much cruelty to men?' And I answer, ' I am 
working at the roots.' Every humane publication, every lec- 
ture, every step, in doing or teaching kindness to them, is a 
step to prevent crime — a step in promoting the growth of 
those qualities of heart which will elevate human souls, even 
in the dens of sin and shame, and prepare the way for the 
coming of peace on earth and good will to men. 

"There are hundreds of thousands of parents among the 
depraved and criminal classes of this country whom no child 
can be taught to love, or ought to be. There are hundreds of 
thousands of homes where the name of the Almighty is never 



RECITATIONS. 29 

heard, except in words of blasphemy. But there is not a child 
in one of those homes that may not be taught in our public 
schools to feed the birds and pat the horses, and enjoy making 
happy all harmless creatures it meets on the streets, and so be 
doing acts of kindness forty times a day, which will make it 
not only happier, but better, and more merciful in all the rela- 
tions of life. 

"Standing before you as the advocate of the lower races, 
I declare what I believe cannot be gainsaid — that just so soon 
and so far as we pour into all our schools the songs, poems 
and literature of mercy towards these lower creatures, just so 
soon and so far shall we reach the roots not only of cruelty but 
of crime." 



A BAND OF MERCY MEETING-. 

[Adapted from Beautiful Joe.] 

"Auntie," said Miss Laura, "what do those letters mean 
on that silver pin you wear with that piece of ribbon? " 

"You know what the white ribbon means, don't you?" 
said Mrs. Wood. 

"Yes; that you are a temperance woman, doesn't it?" 

"It does, and the star pin means that I am a member of 
a Band of Mercy. Do you know what a Band of Mercy is? " 

"No," said Miss Laura. 

" How strange! I should think you would have several in 
Fairport. A cripple boy, the son of a Boston artist, started 
this one here. It has done a great deal of good. There is a 
meeting to-morrow and I will take you, if you like." 

The next day they went, and Beautiful Joe, the dog, went 
too. 

Mrs. Wood and Laura talked all the way about the Band 
of Mercy. Miss Laura was much interested, and said she 
would like to start one in her own town. 

"It is a very simple thing," said Mrs. Wood. "All you 
have to do is to write the pledge at the top of a piece of paper: 
'I will try to be kind to all harmless, living creatures, and try 



30 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

to protect them from cruel usage/ and get thirty people to sigk 
it. That makes a Band. 

"I have formed two or three of these Bands by keeping 
slips of paper ready, and getting people who come to visit me 
to sign them. I call them * Corresponding Bands,' for they 
are too far apart to meet. I send the members Bands of Mercy 
papers, and I get such nice letters from them, telling of kind 
things they do for animals. 

"A Band of Mercy in a place is an excellent thing. 
There's the greatest difference in Riverside since this one was 
started. A few years ago when a man beat or raced his horse, 
and any one interfered, he said: 'This horse is mine; I'll 
do what I like with him.' Most people thought he was right, 
but now they are all for the poor horse, and there isn't a man 
anywhere around who would dare abuse an animal." 

Mrs. Wood paused in front of a building on Main street. 
A great many boys and girls were going in, and we went with 
them. We found ourselves in a large room, with a platform 
at one end of it. There were some chairs on the platform, and 
a small table. 

A boy stood at this table who had his hand on a bell. 
Presently he rang it, and then everyone kept still. Mrs. 
Wood whispered to Miss Laura that this boy was the presi- 
dent of the band, and the young man with the pale face and 
curly hair, who sat in front of him, was the artist's son who 
had formed this Band of Mercy. 

The lad who presided said they would begin their meeting 
by singing a hymn. There was an organ near the platform, and 
a young girl played on it while all the other boys and girls 
stood up and sang clearly and sweetly. 

Then the president asked for a report of their last meet- 
ing. A little girl, blushing and hanging her head, came for- 
ward and read it. 

The president made some remarks, and then everyone 
voted. 

After the voting was over the president called on John 
Turner to give a recitation. He walked up to the platform, 
bowed to the president and to the audience; he then said he 
had learned two stories out of the paper, " Dumb Animals. " 
One was about a horse and the other was about a dog. He 
would tell the horse story first: 



RECITATIONS. 31 

"A man in Missouri had to go to Nebraska to see about 
some land. He went on horseback, on a horse he had trained 
himself, and which came at his whistle, like a dog. On getting 
into Nebraska he came to a place where there were two roads; 
one went by a river, and one went over a hill. The man saw 
that the travel went over the hill, but he thought he'd take the 
river road. He didn't know that there was a quicksand across 
it. There used to be a sign up to tell strangers, but it had 
been taken away. The man got off his horse to let him graze, 
and walked along till he got so far ahead of the horse that he 
had to wait for him. Suddenly he found he was on a quick- 
sand. His feet had sunk in the sand and he could not get 
them out. He threw himself down, and whistled for his horse. 
He shouted for help, but no one came. He could hear some 
young people singing on the river, but they could not hear him. 
The treacherous sand drew him in almost to his shoulders, and 
he thought he was lost. At that moment the horse came run- 
ning up, and stood by his master. The man was too low down 
to get hold of the saddle or bridle, so he took hold of the 
horse's tail and said: * Get up! hip! hip! Get up there!' The 
horse gave an awful pull, and landed his master on safe 
ground! " 

Everyone clapped hands and stamped when this story was 
finished. Thev called out, " The dog story! Give us the dog 
story!" 

The boy bowed, smiled, and began again: 

" You all know what a 'round up' of cattle is. Once a man 
down south was going to have one. There was an ugly black 
steer in the herd, and he was wondering whether their old 
yellow dog could manage him. The dog's name was Tige. 
When the « round up ' came off there was a scene of great con- 
fusion. The steer raged, and tore about, and would let no- 
body come within whip touch of him. Tige skulked about 
for awhile, and then made a run at the steer. The steer 
sighted him, gave a bellow, lowered his horns and ran at him! 
Tige turned tail! to the despair of the ranchman. The boys 
hallooed, « Don't shoot, father ! Don't shoot Tige until you see 
where he is running! ' The dog ran straight for the cattle-pen! 
The steer was so enraged that he never noticed where he 
was going, and dashed after him. Tige leaped the wall and 
came back to the gate yelping and barking for the men to come 



32 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

and shut the steer in. They shut the gate, petted Tige, and 
bought him a collar with a silver plate." 

The boy was cheered and went to his seat. The president 
said that he would like to have remarks made about these 
stories. 

Several children put up their hands, and he asked each 
one to speak in turn. One said: "If that man's horse had 
had a docked tail the poor man couldn't have reached it, and 
would have died." Another said: " If the man hadn't treated 
his horse kindly he wouldn't have come at his whistle, and 
stood over him to see what he could do to help him." A third 
child said: "The people on the river were not as quick at 
hearing the man in trouble as the horse was." 

When this talk was over the president called for some 
stories of foreign animals. 

Another boy came forward, made his bow, and said in a 
short, abrupt voice, every word coming as if jerked out: " My 
uncle's name is Henry Worthington. He is an Englishman. 
Once he was a soldier in India. One day when he was hunt- 
ing in the Punjab he saw a mother monkey carrying a little, 
dead baby monkey. Six months after he was in the same 
jungle. Saw same monkey still carrying dead baby monkey 
all shriveled up." 

The boy bobbed his head for a bow and went to his seat. 
The president said: "Ronald, that is a very good story — if it 
is true." 

The boy who told the story looked very angry. He jumped 
up again and said: " My uncle's a true man, Phil Dodge! He 
never told a lie in his life! " 

The president's face was scarlet. A tall boy in the back 
of the room got up and said: " Mr. President, what would be 
impossible in this climate might be possible in a hot country 
like India. Doesn't heat sometimes draw up and preserve 
things?" 

The president's face cleared. "Thank you for the sug- 
gestion," he said. "I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings, but 
you know we have a rule that only true stories are to be told 
here. We have five minutes more for foreign stories. Has 
anyone else one? " 

A small girl with twinkling eyes and a merry face got up 
just behind Miss Laura, and made her way to the front. She 



RECITATIONS. 33 

had a piping little voice and said: "My dranf adder says dat 
when he was a little poy his f adder bought him a little monkey 
from de West Indies. Dose naughty poys in dot village used 
to tease de little monkey and — he runned up a tree one day! 
Dey was drowing stones at him, and a man dat vos painting a 
house druv 'em away. De monkey runned down de tree and 
shook hands wid de man! My dranf adder saw him," she said 
with a shake of her head at the president, as if she was afraid 
he would doubt her. 

There was great laughing and clapping of hands when 
this little girl took her seat, and she hopped right up again 
and ran back. 

"Oh, I fordot! My dranf adder says dat afterwards de 
monkey upset dot painter's can of oil, and rolled in it, and den 
jumped down in my dranfadder's flour barrel." 

The president looked very much amused. 

Mr. Maxwell told a story after this, which he said hap- 
pened at his boarding house, and he had seen it himself. 
Monday, the day before, being washing day, his landlady had 
put out a large washing. Among the clothes on the line was a 
gray flannel shirt belonging to her husband. The young dog 
at the house had pulled the shirt from the line and torn it to 
pieces. The woman put it aside and told him: "You bad dog! 
You'll get a whipping!" When the man came home to his 
dinner he showed the dog the pieces of the shirt and gave him a 
severe whipping. 

The dog ran away, visited all the clothes lines in the vil- 
lage until he found a gray shirt very like his master's. He 
seized it, and ran home, laying it at his master's feet, joyfully 
wagging his tail, as much as to say: "Now, is it all right? " 

Somebody asked the president which was worst, tearing 
up the shirt or stealing one to replace it? 

Simon Gray told a story about their old gray horse, Ned, 
which his father sold, and shipped in a car, but he got out 
when the train was in motion, and came back home. His 
father got the man to release him from his bargain and he 
always kept old Ned. 

The president asked the boys and girls to give three 
cheers for old Ned. After that they had singing and then the 
children told what they had done to help animals during the 
past fortnight. 



34 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

One little girl had persuaded some boys not to throw 
stones at the birds and frogs, nor stick pins through butter- 
flies. 

One boy had persuaded his father to let him cut the blind- 
ers off from the head-stalls with his knife. He thought it time 
everybody threw off the foolish way of half covering the eyes 
of horses. 

The president asked the boys to give three groans for 
blinders. 

There were several other stories. Mrs. Wood gave a short 
address about ''Birds in Millinery." 

A lad got up, whom they all greeted with cheers, and cries 
of "The Poet! the Poet!" He had a snub nose, freckles, and 
I think was the plainest boy there, but that didn't matter, if 
the others loved him. He sauntered up to the front with his 
hands behind his back, and a very grand manner. 

"The beautiful poetry recited here to-day," he drawled 
out, "put some verses in my mind, that I never had until I 
came here to-day." All cheered wildly. He said in a sing- 
song voice: 

"I am a Band of Mercy boy, 

I would not hurt a fly, 
I always speak to dogs and cats 

Whene'er I pass them by. 

" I always let the birdies sing, 

I never throw a stone, 
I always give a hungry dog 

A nice, fat, meaty bone. 

" I wouldn't drive a bob-tailed horse 

Nor hurry up a cow, 
I 1__ I " 

He had forgotten the rest. The boys and girls were so 
sorry. They called out "Pig," "Goat," "Calf," "Sheep," 
"Hens," "Ducks!" 

"No 't aint that." 

He stood for a long time staring at the ceiling. Then he 
said: "I guess I'll have to give it up. 1 guess it's gone for- 
ever," and he went to his seat. 

They then took in new members and pinned silver stars 



RECITATIONS. 35 

on them as a badge of membership. After that they sang, 
"God Bless Our Native Land," and the Band of Mercy 
children dispersed to try to practice the lessons of love and 
kindness they had received. It was a good meeting. 



HEARTBREAK HILL. 

BY EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 

Off to the westward a hill I see, 
Clothed in the verdure of grass and tree; 
Pale mists hang over it rosily 
When morn unglobes all the dews there be. 
So fair it looks that one longs to go 
Where all the flowers have a chastened glow, 
And minor music the song birds know, 
Rilling it out with an unreined will 
On Heartbreak Hill. 

Oh! who would dream what is truly there! 
It looks so calm in the melting air — 
To go with zest one must put by care, 
Thinking never of pit or snare. 
Working only for selfish wants, 
Following Vice as she laughs and flaunts, 
Dealing venom aud pain and taunts, 
Leading her victims up to kill 

On Heartbreak Hill. 

When starting many know not the name 
Of the hill where Grief holds prior claim, 
And Wrong leads on with her oriflame 
Through ignorance, folly, blindness, shame, 
Until they stand on the very top, 
Worn and weary, and forced to stop, 
Or dead in their crooked footsteps drop! 
A stream of tears winds dark and still 
'Round Heartbreak Hill. 

Some go there with a pure intent, 
Only by others' misdoings sent; 
Some go following those who went 



36 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

Recklessly, all life's days misspent, 
Trying to win them back to truth, 
Back from the ways which have wrought them ruth, 
On to the lands of immortal youth, 
Out of the marshes, dank and chill, 
'Round Heartbreak Hill. 

The tourists going are not aware 
That skeletons ghastly are buried there; 
Nor know they, writhing in wan despair 
Are starving prisoners hid somewhere, 
Longing, praying to be relieved — 
The dark deceiver, the white deceived. 
But those are dead who have been reprieved, 
And veiled Death is the sentry still 
On Heartbreak Hill. 

The journey up may be wild and gay 
With drink songs, dances, and throw-away, 
And mouths which never can say you nay, 
For even rose-leaves are common clay. 
Bat the journey down on the other side! 
The road is strewn with the rags of Pride, 
And travelers who by the wayside died. 
Oh! of ghastly sights you may take your fill 
Down Heartbreak Hill. 

How strange it is that the guideposts set 
On the road of life are not heeded yet! 
Our feet may bleed 'til the clay is wet, 
But who that journeys will not forget? 
We tell the tales of our peril o'er, 
And think to frighten from rim to core, 
Turning the travelers evermore 
Away from the road which leads to ill 
Up Heartbreak Hill. 

But on they go in an endless throng, 

With dance or dirge for a marching song, 

The good and the bad, the weak and the strong — 

All dizzy-headed and going wrong! 

Winding onward to meet their fate, 

The known and the unknown, small and great, 



RECITATIONS. 37 

The woebegone and desolate, 
Pushing forward, with blinded will, 
Up Heartbreak Hill. 

O'er Heartbreak Hill all the atmosphere 
Is white with angels who hover near, 
And hope to woo from its horrors drear 
The ones who are ever and ever dear! 
Up and out of grief's brooding night 
They show a path to the gates of light; 
And those who sorrow may find delight 
By trusting the angels, pure and still, 
O'er Heartbreak Hill. 



EARLY LESSONS IN KINDNESS OR CRUELTY. 

BY A. D. FOGG. 

"Thoughtless and unfeeling conduct," says Mrs. Mary F. 
Lovell, "which rapidly develops into downright cruelty, is ex- 
ercised first and most largely toward the brute creation, be- 
cause of its helplessness and the larger opportunity. It may 
begin very early. An innocent baby will, in his exuberant hap- 
piness, squeeze a poor kitten nearly to death, and try to put 
his fingers into its eyes; but the baby's innocence is no reason 
for allowing him a pastime which gives pain to a living 
creature. The kitten has rights which even a baby can be 
taught to respect; and the baby has the right to an early train- 
ing which will make him, by and by, a benevolent and humane 
member of society, and not a selfish and thoughtless one." 

From the societies for the Prevention of Cruelty to 
Children we can learn how often little children are cruelly 
treated by those who ought to ptotect them. It is but a 
natural sequence. When the father was a baby he tormented 
the kitten; as boy he abused the dog; as larger boy he bullied 
the smaller one, and as husband and father he tyrannizes over 
wife and children. He has never learned to control his 
temper; he has never known what it was to protect the weak; 
he has never learned to regard the feelings of others — what 
can you expect of him now? The child's sense of justice is 
keen, and he knows when he is punished simply because father 



38 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

or mother is in a temper and must vent it upon something. Is 
it any wonder, then, that the child grows surly and resentful; 
that he learns readily to deceive, and that the life of the father 
is repeated over again in the child. 

Many a mother gives all unconsciously to her child his 
first lesson in cruelty. Baby is seated upon the rocking-horse, 
a whip placed in his little hands, and he is told, " Now whip 
the old horse and make him go." Katie is teasing the cat and 
making her cry, and the mother says, " Don't pull the pussy, 
she will scratch you." Tommy is pinching the dog to see 
him squirm, and she says, " Don't hurt Rover, Tommy, he 
might bite you." Oh, mother, do you realize that you are 
teaching your child that there is no harm in inflicting suffering 
upon anything provided he is not himself hurt by it? Johnny 
starts to run across the room, trips over a chair and bumps 
his nose on the floor. Johnny howls and his mother says, 
"Naughty chair, to make Johnny hurt himself; beat the old 
chair; " and she immediately proceeds to administer condign 
punishment to the unoffending chair. She is teaching the 
child that instead of controlling his temper, he must give full 
vent to it, and that if he is hurt, instead of bearing it like a 
man, he must revenge himself upon something, whether inno- 
cent or guilty. What will be the result of such a training? 

A little four-year-old toddler was pulling at his mother's 
skirts and teasing her to play with him. " Oh! don't bother 
me now," said the mother; " run away and chase the old lame 
hen round the garden," and the little one ran off eager at the 
prospect of his fun. Fifteen years later, when this same 
mother was enfeebled from sickness, she was bemoaning with 
wonder why it was possible that her boy, for whom she had 
done and sacrificed so much, should be so unfeeling in his 
treatment of her. The seed she herself had planted and 
watered had sprung up and was bearing abundant fruit, and 
she did not even recognize that it was from her own sowing. 

When the thaw came after the great blizzard and the 
water was running in rivers in the gutters, two little girls of 
eight and nine were seen holding a tiny kitten under the water 
until she was almost drowned; then lifting her out to revive, 
when they would again put her in the water. These were 
children of families of good social position in the church and 
in society, but what home heart-training could they have had, 



RECITATIONS. 39 

and what kind of mothers will they make in the years to come? 
Baby stretches out his little hand for the fly buzzing on 
the windowpane, and laughs and crows with delight as he 
crushes it in his tiny fist, or pulls from it limb after limb. 
These first destructive instincts should be checked then and 
there. If baby is old enough to have those instincts developed, 
he is old enough to be restrained from them. 

Do not place in the hands of your child such toys as 
whips, guns, and swords, but teach him rather that needless 
wars and cruelty are crimes. Teach him to find delight in 
studying the birds with an opera glass instead of shooting 
them, and to take pleasure in feeding them rather than in rob- 
bing their nests. There is no surer way to teach a child to be 
unselfish and thoughtful for others than to make him consider- 
ate of the feelings of his pets; yet this fact seems to be utterly 
lost sight of in the training of many children. 

Strange, indeed, that so little attention should be paid to 
developing tenderness of heart, when life is so cold without it. 



THE WIVES OP WEINSBERG. 

A LESSON OF FIDELITY. 

The little town of Weinsberg 

Is built upon a hill — 
And the ladies there are famed for 

Sagacity and skill; 
If e'er I go a-wooing, 

Whatever may betide, 
The little town of Weinsberg 

Shall furnish me a bride. 

The mighty Kaiser Conrad, 

By fancied wrongs enraged, 
Together drew his forces, 

And war against it waged. 
By sap and escalading 

He struggled to prevail — 
But its bulwarks were of granite. 

Its burghers cased in mail ! 



40 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

Three times the veteran warriors 

Redoubled the attack, 
And thrice the stalwart burghers 

The imperial host beat back; 
But fell disease and famine 

The patriots did assail — 
The civil guards of Weinsberg 

Could scarce support their mail ! 

Repulsed, and chafed to frenzy, 

Dishonored one and all, 
The despot sent a herald 

Beneath the leaguered walls. 
" Ye base, rebellious varlets, 

Lay down your arms to me, 
Or every boor shall dangle 

Upon the nearest tree !" 

A panic spread like wildfire 

Through street, and square, and lane. 
And frantic words were uttered 

Both pious and profane; 
" By famine or halter, 

Alas, we must expire ! 
I feel the noose already ! " 

Exclaimed a famished friar. 

With wild vociferation 

A shriveled landlord cried, 
" My larders are all empty, 

And cannot be supplied ! " 
" We're lost ! " cried Hans the baker, 

" Undone ! " rejoined a priest; 
And grim old Karl, the blacksmith, 

He smote his withered breast. 

The iris spans the valley 

When clouds obscure the sky, 

And winter nights are darkest 
When dawn is drawing nigh; 

When lordly man's confounded, 
Distracted, and distressed, 



RECITATIONS. 41 

A balm is oft discovered 
In woman's gentle breast. 

Close to the hour of midnight 

An embassy of wives 
Hied to the foe's encampment 

At hazard of their lives — 
Led on by Madame Lobson, 

Whose bright disheveled hair 
Streamed o'er her milk-white shoulders — 

A picture of despair ! 

She sought the chief's pavilion, 

And humbly on her knee 
The lovely suppliant bended 

And prayed for clemency! 
Ah! vehemently she pleaded, 

And copiously she wept; 
But still the ruthless monarch 

His fatal purpose kept. 

" Go! tell that horde of traitors — 

Audacious, base-born thralls — 
I'll hang them high as Haman, 

When once I scale their walls; 
I wage no war on women, 

Be high or low their birth; 
You're free! — So bring such treasure 

As you can carry forth." 

The morning dawned serenely, 

The birds were all in song, 
When from the portals issued 

A helpless female throng; 
Each to the distant mountains 

Pursued her devious track, 
With terror in her bosom, 

Her husband on her back! 

Repudiated courtiers, 

They sickened at the sight; 
But Conrad from his tent-door 



42 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

Beheld it with delight! 
" Ha! bravo! " cried the Kaiser — 

And rubbed his hands with glee; 
"I question if the Empress 

Would do as much for me." 

From turret, spire, and steeple, 

The civic banners streamed; 
A pardon has been granted, 

An amnesty proclaimed ! 
A sumptuous entertainment 

The almoner provides; 
And Conrad at the table 

In regal state presides! 

Ah! how the viands vanished 

Like snowflakes in the Rhine; 
The burghers were enraptured 

With royalty and wine! 
They snapped their skinny fingers, 

They toasted and they drank, 
Without regard to talent, 

Or precedence, or rank! 

"What ho! ye mopping minstrels, 

Strike up a lively air! " 
And Conrad in a twinkling 

Sprang from his regal chair, 
He danced with all the females 

Who filled these spacious rooms — 
Alike with rank and beauty, 

And her who gathers brooms! 

The little town of Weinsberg 

Is built upon a hill — ■ 
The ladies there are famed for 

Sagacity and skill: 
If ever I go a-wooing, 

Whatever may betide, 
The little town of Weinsberg 

Shall furnish me a bride! 

— Burger. 



RECITATIONS. 43 

OLD KATE. 
BY EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 

She was an honest, trusty, family horse, and when she 
was young everybody who saw her said she was a perfect 
beauty. She had great endurance and was true as steel. 

How did she look? She was a rich dark bay. Her legs 
were straight and her feet something to be proud of. Her 
neck was graceful, and held up a head lighted by a pair of eyes 
which were almost human. Oh! her head was a study, with its 
dilating nostrils, wistful eyes, sensitive ears and entire air of 
refinement and good will, seldom seen combined. 

She spent all her life in the service of one man — one very 
monstrously mean man — who was never known to be thankful 
for what she had done, or to say, "Kate is getting tired, we 
must not crowd her;" or, " Kate is faithful! What a help she 
has been to us, since the day she was broke." No! he never 
thought of that. He was always yelling, " Git up there!" and 
cracking his long whip over her back, and on it, too, many 
times every workday. 

But Kate was patient and did not fret herself to death, as 
one would think she must have done. Work always wears so 
when one is scolded all the time! But old Kate worked away, 
year after year, until she wore out three good strong horses 
which were paired with her to labor. They died, one after an- 
other, and Kate still was the main dependence. 

Finally she grew old, and one day she was hitched to a 
heavy load with a new young horse, and it was too much for 
her old body; she could not pull her half of the load. 

Then her cruel master got off and beat her, using horrible 
oaths and kicks. She tried hard, she strained until her eyes 
stood out of their sockets, but she could not pull with the 
young horse. 

The man went and got a fence rail and was about to 
pound her with that when one of his neighbors came along. 

"What's up Jake? Stuck?" 

"Stuck nowhere! That blamed old mare's got her back 
up. She won't pull, and I'll pound it out of her! " 



44 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

"Why, Jake, the old girl is worked out. Think how long 
you've worked her, and she was always willing. Poor old 
girlie; she's about ready to go up the spout, Jake." 

"I know she ain't wuth much — ain't fit to winter — but I 
want her to pull this load home, then I'm done with her." 

It was useless, she could not draw the load, and the kind- 
hearted neighbor put his own team on and took it to its desti- 
nation. 

Old Kate's faithful body had at last failed to serve her 
master's will, and her fate was sealed. She disappeared from 
the barns, the barn-yard, and from the fields of her labor. 
Where? 

One day the neighbor who had pleaded for Kate was at 
the home of the man who worked her so many years. 

" How's your stock wintering, Jake?" said he. " Where's 
old Kate?" 

"Oh, she wa'nt no good! I turned her in a back lot to 
die. I didn't want to kill her." 

"Where?" 

"Oh! up on the clay nub, over back, way out of sight. I 
didn't want to see her starve, so I put her out of sight." 

Old Kate's bones were found there in the spring. She 
had pawed to try to get water, but she got none. She had 
hunted for food, but there was none there, and so she died of 
hunger and thirst and cold; homeless and shelterless. 

And while she was slowly dying, her master was putting 
in his time attending a protracted meeting at the church, and 
trying to bring souls to Christ! — to Christ, the gentle, loving 
Nazarene! How God must have despaired over the work of 
whitening his black heart. 

If he had been humanely educated when a boy, humanity 
need not have had the black blot of his cruelty upon its pages. 
If ministers had preached more about our duties to one an- 
other, and to our dumb creatures, making that a part of re- 
ligion, how much pain might have been prevented. Thanks 
to our humane workers, the clergy are awaking to their duty. 

What is sadder than to see a horse down in the harness, 
his last bit of strength urged out of him to haul a loaded 



RECITATIONS. 45 

wagon? I have seen it a few times on the streets of our surg- 
ing cities, where the voiceless have so poor a showing. John 
Boyle O'Reiley pictures it truly in his poem: 

DYING IN HARNESS. 

Only a fallen horse, stretched out there on the road, 
Stretched in the broken shafts, and crushed by the heavy load. 
Only a fallen horse and a circle of wondering eyes 
Watching the frighted teamster goading the beast to rise. 

Hold! for his toil is over; no more labor for him; 

See the poor neck outstretched and the patient eye grow dim; 

See on the friendly stones how peacefully rests his head, 

Thinking, if dumb beasts think, how good it is to be dead; 

After the burdened journey, how restful it is to lie 

With the broken shafts and the cruel load, waiting only to die! 

Watchers, he died in harness, died in the shafts and straps; 
Fell, and the great load killed him, one of the day's mishaps. 
One of the passing wonders marking the city road. 
A toiler dying in harness, heedless of call or goad. 

Passers, crowding the pathway, staying your steps awhile, 
Was it the symbol? Only death; why should we cease to 

smile 
At death for a beast of burden? On through the busy street 
That is ever and ever echoing the tread of hurrying feet! 

What was the sign? A symbol to touch the tireless will. 
Does He who taught in parables speak in parables still? 
The seed on the rock is wasted, on heedless hearts of men, 
That gather and sow and grasp and lose, labor and sleep, and 

then: 
Then for the prize! A crowd in the street of ever-echoing 

tread; 
The toiler, crushed by the heavy load, is there in his harness 

dead! 



46 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

THE MAGNITUDE OP OUR WORK. 

BY CEO. T. ANGELL. 

It is hardly possible for anyone not in it to rightly esti- 
mate the magnitude of our work. Take the city of Boston alone, 
and one animal, the horse. Our courts are filled with cases of 
assaults upon man; but it would be speaking far within bounds 
to say, that for every such case there are twenty cases of cruel 
and illegal assaults upon horses. Take into consideration all 
the overloaded teams, the overloaded omnibuses, the over- 
loaded horse-cars, the cases of fast driving, over-driving, over- 
working, under-feeding, neglect to water, neglect to properly 
shelter and protect from the weather, tight check-reins, sores 
worn by harness, twitching, beating, kicking, bad shoeing, 
bad pavements, bad stables, bad feeding, bad harness, bad 
grooming, bad drivers, and all the other various forms of abuse 
to which the horse is subjected. Then extend the estimate to 
the whole wide circle of dumb creatures, and to the whole three 
hundred and odd cities and towns of the State. Let it include 
all the cattle trains on the railroads of the State, crowded 
daily to suffocation with dumb creatures, hungry, thirsty and 
sleepless; the merciless bleeding of calves; the bagging of 
cows; the starving at the cattle markets; the shearing of sheep 
in cold weather before they are sent to market; the cruel pluck- 
ing of live fowls, and their cruel, transportation; the cruel 
transportation of calves tied; the abominable treatment of old 
and wornout horses; the short feeding of cattle; the cruel 
methods of slaughtering cattle, sheep and swine; the cruel 
methods of killing poultry; the destruction of useful birds; the 
dog-fights and cock-fights in our cities; and last, though not 
least, the almost incalculable tortures practiced in the unneces- 
sary dissections of living animals. Sit down and consider how 
much you have personally seen and heard of; recollect, that 
of what transpires in your own city or town you do not see 
or hear of one case in a thousand; add to the population of 
your own city or town the population of the whole State. 
Recollect that the human population of the State is outnum- 



RECITATIONS. 47 

bered twenty to one by the great animal population of the 
State, which can neither read, write nor speak. Recollect 
that we, by our act of incorporation and the subsequent laws 
passed at our request, have become the legally authorized 
guardians and protectors of this innumerable multitude, bound 
by our public promises and declarations, and the position in 
which we stand, as well as by our sympathies, to do all that 
lies in our power for their welfare. Take all of these things 
into consideration, not lightly, for the moment, but with 
thought and reflection; and you may then begin to realize 
something of the magnitude of our responsibilities, something 
of the magnitude of the necessities of the work. 

Nor is this all. It strikes deeper at the foundations of 
society; nay, underlies farther the very Church itself, than the 
unreflecting may have dreamed. Like the Sanitary and Chris- 
tian Commissions, it forms a grand plateau, on which all good 
men and women, of all churches and no church, can work to- 
gether for those things which underlie every church. It pro- 
poses to go into every family of the State, Protestant, Catholic, 
infidel and atheist (if such there be), and preach to all and 
each of them the new evangel, "Peace on earth and good-will 
to all God's creatures." When the rights of dumb animals 
shall be protected, the rights of human beings will be safe. 
When children in every home shall learn to spare the useful 
bird, nor plunder its little nest, systems of State-prison disci- 
pline will become less important. We have only just begun 
to work. 

Not until our law shall have been perfected by further 
legislation and judicial decisions; not until our agents shall be 
found in every town; not until the rich shall give from their 
abundance in streams rather than driblets, and the poor ac- 
cording to their ability; not until the pulpit and the press, 
those tremendous engines of good or evil, shall speak plainly 
in our behalf; not until our paper or its equivalent shall be 
read in every school of the State, and every school boy and 
girl of the State shall be faithfully instructed as to the rights 
and wrongs of animals — not until all these things have been 
accomplished shall we begin to feel that we are properly com- 
ing up to the magnitude of our work. 



4 8 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 



AT THE GATE: A WARNING TO SELF-RIGHT- 
EOUS PEOPLE. 

BY JOSEPH BERT SMILEY. 

St. Peter stood guard at the golden gate 
With a solemn mien and an air sedate, 
"When up to the top of the golden stair 
A man and a woman, ascending there, 
Applied for admission. They came and stood 
Before St. Peter, so great and good, 
In hope the City of Peace to win — 
And asked St. Peter to let them in. 

The woman was tall, and lank, and thin, 
With a scraggy beardlet upon her chin. 
The man was short, and thick, and stout, 
His stomach was built so it rounded out, 
His face was pleasant, and all the while 
He wore a kindly and genial smile, 
The choirs in the distance the echoes woke, 
And the man kept still while the woman spoke. 

" O, thou who guardest the gate," said she, 
" We two come hither, beseeching thee 
To let us enter the heavenly land 
And play our harps with angel band; 
Of me, St. Peter, there is no doubt, 
There's nothing from heaven to bar me out. 
I've been to meeting three times a week, 
And almost always I'd rise and speak. 

"I've told the sinners about the day 
When they'd repent of their evil way, 
I've told my neighbors — I've told 'em all 
'Bout Adam and Eve, and the Primal Fall, 
I've shown them what they'd have to do 
If they'd pass in with the chosen few, 
I've marked their path of duty clear, 
Laid out the plan for their whole career, 



RECITATIONS. 49 

"I've talked and talked to 'm loud and long, 

For my lungs are good, and my voice is strong; 

So, good St. Peter, you'll clearly see 

The gate of heaven is open for me; 

But my old man, I regret to say, 

Hasn't walked in exactly the narrow way. 

He smokes and he swears, and grave faults he's got, 

And I don't know whether he'll pass or not. 

"He never would pray with an earnest vim, 
Or go to revival, or join in a hymn; 
So I had to leave him in sorrow there 
While I with the chosen united in prayer. 
He ate what the pantry chanced to afford, 
While I, in my purity, sang to the Lord, 
And if cucumbers were all he got, 
It's a chance if he merited them or not. 

"But oh, St. Peter, I love him so! 
To the pleasures of heaven please let him go! 
I've done enough — a saint I've been. 
Won't that atone? Can't you let him in? 
By my grim gospel I know 'tis so 
That the unrepentant must fry below; 
But isn't there some way you can see 
That he may enter who's dear to me? 

" It's a narrow gospel by which I pray, 

But the chosen expect to find a way 

Of coaxing, or fooling, or bribing you 

So that their relations can amble through. 

And say, St. Peter, it seems to me 

This gate isn't kept as it ought to be; 

You ought to stand right by the opening there, 

And never sit down in that easy-chair. 

"And say, St. Peter, my sight is dimmed, 

But I don't like the way your whiskers are trimmed; 

They're cut too wide, and outward toss, 

They'd look better narrow, cut straight across. 

Well, we must be going, our crowns to win, 



50 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

So, open, St. Peter, and we'll pass in! " 



St. Peter sat quiet, stroked his staff, 
But spite of his office he had to laugh; 
Then he said, with a fiery gleam in his eye, 
"Who's tending this gateway, you or I?" 
And then he rose, in his stature tall, 
And pressed a button upon the wall, 
And said to the imp who answered the bell, 
" Escort this lady around to — hades!" 

* * # * * * 

The man stood still as a piece of stone — 
Stood sadly, gloomily, there alone. 
A lifelong, settled idea he had 
That his wife was good and he was bad. 
He thought if the woman went down below 
That he would certainly have to go; 
That if she went to the regions dim, 
There wasn't a ghost of a show for him. 

Slowly he turned, by habit bent, 
To follow wherever the woman went. 
St. Peter, standing on duty there, 
Observed that the top of his head was bare. 
He called the gentleman back and said, 
" Friend, how long have you been wed?" 
" Thirty years" (with a weary sigh), 
And then he thoughtfully added, " Why? " 

St. Peter was silent. With head bent down 

He raised his hand and scratched his crown, 

Then seeming a different thought to take, 

Slowly, half to himself, he spake: 

" Thirty years with that woman there? 

No wonder the man hasn't any hair! 

Swearing is wicked. Smoke's not good. 

He smoked and swore — I should think he would! 

" Thirty years with that tongue so sharp? 
Ho! Angel Gabriel! Give him a harp! 



RECITATIONS. 5^ 



A jeweled harp with a golden string! 
Good sir, pass in where the angels sing! 
Gabriel, give him a seat alone — 
One with a cushion — up near the throne! 
Call up some angels to play their best, 
Let him enjoy the music and rest! 

" See that on finest Ambrosia he feeds, 
He's had about all the hades he needs; 
It isn't hardly the thing to do 
To roast him on earth and the future too. 



They gave him a harp with golden strings, 
A glittering robe, and a pair of wings, 
And he said, as he enter'd the Realm of Day, 
"Well, this beats cucumbers, anyway!" 
And so the scripture had come to pass 
That " The last shall be first and the first shall be 
last." 



OLD DOBBIN'S LAST DAY'S WORK. 

[From "The Strike at Shane's."] 

"Gee up, there, Dobbin! Whoop!" With a shout that 
rang through the forest Tom Shane let the heavy "black- 
snake" whip fall on the flanks of the two willing horses. Again 
and again the heavy whip fell on the "off" horse, which was 
apparently unable to "pull even " with the younger horse on 
the " near" side. The horses tugged at the traces, and floun- 
dered about in the mud, but were unable to move the heavy 
load to which they were hitched. 

" Be aisy there now, Tom, will ye? It's stuck ye are now, 
sure enough." 

"It's all on account of that lazy Dobbin; he didn't pull ^ 
pound." 

" Arrah, there now, it's forgettin' the age o' the hors*:- 'ye 
are. Sure, there wasn't a horse on the place could pull wid 
him whin he was younger. It's gettin' along in the years I am 



52 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

mesilf, an' age will be wearin' the strength o' a horse the same 
as a man. Let 'em stand 'til I get a bit of a pry under the 
wheel." 

He procured a fence-rail, and proceeded to put it under the 
wheel as a lever to lift it a little out of the " chuck hole " where 
it had stopped. 

"Now, will ye give 'em another pull?" said Mike, who 
had his "bit of a pry" under the wheel, and was dangling on 
the end of it doing his best to lift the wheel a little. 

" Give 'em a schmall taste of the whip, to encourage 'em 
a little," he cried. 

Again the whip was unsparingly used by Tom, and the 
two horses exerted all their powers, but only succeeded in 
moving the wagon enough to let Mike's pry slip out, and he 
came sprawling down in the mud. But more serious results 
had followed. Old Dobbin was down, and Tom, in his anger, 
was cutting him with his whip to make him get up. 

" Hould on there, bye," shouted Mike, coming forward, 
co\2ied with mud. "Ye wouldn't sthrike a man whin he's 
down; thin why don't ye show the same dacency to a dumb 
brute! Unhitch the chains there; don't you see the ould horse 
is chokin'? " 

" Little do I care if he dies. Here it is comin' night, an' 
this load stuck here in the middle of the road all on account of 
that old brute." 

"It's the fault o' yer feyther, it is; for if he'd be doin' the 
right thing by old Dobbin he'd give 'im the run 'o the pasture 
for the rist of his days widout a bit of the work to do. It's 
goin' on twenty years since he was broke to the harness, an' 
that's afore you was borned." 

"Come, old fellow, get up;" and he assisted the old horse 
to his feet. 

" Hello, there, what's up? " shouted the driver of a team 
that had come up behind. 

"Sure, an' it's stuck in the mud we are," said Mike. "An' 
it's glad we are to see ye, Mr. Tracy, if ye'll give us a pull at 
the ind o' the tongue wid thim beautiful horses o' yourn. " 

"Ah, it's Shane's team!" said Mr. Tracy, "and old Dob- 
bin has been down. Shane never will learn when a horse is 
used up. He's had twenty years' good service out of that 



RECITATIONS. 53 

horse and isn't satisfied yet. That's a good load for four 
horses over such roads as these. " 

" That's thrue, but Shane niver sinds four horses to do the 
work he can get out of two." 

Mr. Tracy's team was soon hitched to the end of the 
tongue: and the four horses easily pulled the wagon out of the 
mud. 

"The old horse is winded," said Mr. Tracy, "andean 
never pull that load home. It's a shame to treat a faithful old 
horse in that manner. You had better pull out to the side of 
the road, and comeback in the morning with a better team." 

Mr. Tracy's advice was taken, as it was evident that old 
Dobbin was about used up. 

About twenty-five years previous to this time John Shane 
had moved to Indiana, and had bought a small farm, on which 
he built a sawmill; and by running the mill in winter and 
farming in summer he had added to his possessions until he 
was now the owner of two hundred acres of fine farm land. 
He had been a hard-working man, and was now considered a 
well-equipped and prosperous farmer. He was a hard man to 
deal with, and always aimed to make a dollar where other 
people made a dime. 

It was a favorite maxim of his that nothing should stay 
on the farm that did not more than pay expenses. 

There was not a beast or fowl on the farm but what his 
careful eye was on it, and everything must bring in money or 
its fate was sealed. 

Altogether the animals on Shane's farm had a pretty hard 
time of it. There were two redeeming characters on the farm, 
however, and they were Mrs. Shane and her daughter Edith. 
Invariably kind and gentle in their ways, they were loved by 
everything on the farm, and their righteous indignation would 
sometimes get the better of their judgment, and they would 
speak their minds about the cruelties practiced by father and 
son. They would usually meet with the reply that " Women 
had better keep still about things that don't consarn 'em." 
And John Shane said, " Nothin' made him madder than for a 
woman to interfere when he was dealin' with his animals!" 

Tom, having arrived at home, and put the horses in the 
stable, came into the house just as the family were sitting 
down to the supper table. 



54 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

."You are late to-night, Tom," said Shane. " Has any- 
thing gone wrong? " 

"Yes, everything's gone wrong, and if I can't have a 
better team to work with I won't do any more teamin'." 

" Come, sir, none of that kind of talk — I won't have it. 
What's the matter with the team? " 

"Why, enough's the matter," said Tom. "We got stuck in 
the mud down by Ford's, an* old Dobbin choked down an' 
wouldn't pull a pound;" and Tom proceeded to tell the whole 
affair as it occurred, not omitting Mr. Tracy's remarks. 

" I think Mr. Tracy had better mind his own business and 
leave mine alone." 

"Well, if he had, your wagon would be standing down 
there in the mudhole yet." 

"That ain't what I mean. That's no more than I'd do 
for a neighbor; but I know a good horse as well as Tracy does; 
an' my horses don't take no back seat for his neither." 

" He don't drive any windbroken nor wornout horses." 

" No more would I if it wasn't for your mother, who makes 
me keep old Dobbin." 

"Well, John," said Mrs Shane, mildly, "you don't need 
to work old Dobbin if you do keep him. I am sure, as Mr. 
Tracy says, he has earned a rest for the balance of his life." 

"You know my principles, Mary, that nothin' shall stay 
on this farm that don't pay expenses." 

" I brought Dobbin here when I married you, John, and 
here he is going to stay as long as he lives." 

"An' I say, father," said Tom, breaking in, "if mother 
insists on keeping Dobbin, let's turn him out to pasture. It 
won't cost much to keep him, an' I won't drive a broken-down 
horse for people to make remarks about." 

In the morning old Dobbin was sick. 

"Here is a fine go! Out of a team — right in the busy 
season! " growled Shane. " Hello! Tom! Go for the hoss 
doctor! Quick! " 

The veterinary surgeon said he thought he might get him 
up, but he could do no more work. 

"Then I'll not spend a cent on him — not a cent!" said 
Shane as he set his feet apart and spit in disgust. 

"Mr. Hodges," said a voice behind them, "you can give 
old Dobbin all the attention he needs, and I will see that you 



RECITATIONS. 55 

are paid." It was Mrs. Shane, and she added, " An old friend 
like Dobbin, who has toiled all his life for us, is entitled to care 
in sickness, and a resting-place when dead on the field of his 
labors." 



THE CHECK-REIN. 

BY HUDSON TUTTLE. 

The horse came from the hand of his Creator as perfect as 
infinite wisdom could make him, beautiful in every curving 
line, and strong in the swelling contour of every muscle. His 
arching neck has great freedom to balance his motions, and 
whether bent low, as it should be when drawing loads, ex- 
tended as in running, or proudly arching when he has nothing 
to do but display, it pictures gracefulness and beauty. 

His mane and tail are like banners; his eyes, prominent 
and almost human in expression; his mouth and nostrils ex- 
pressive of nervous sensibility; yet man has not been satisfied 
with this splendid animal. The graceful appendage given to 
protect its owner from annoying insects has been cut off after 
the dictate of some idiotic fashion-maker, and the speaking 
eyes covered with blinders which, even when best adjusted, 
often produce blindness. 

The sensitive mouth is distorted with a coarse iron bit on 
which a great deal of inventive skill has been exhausted to 
make it a cruel instrument of torture, and lastly and more 
needlessly cruel than all else, a check-rein has been attached to 
the torturing bit, drawing the head up and the nose out, so 
that it will be carried high and held immovably. An arching 
neck, having the freedom of that of the swan, calls forth ad- 
miration, but the stiff, straight lines given by the check are 
quite the reverse, and when associated with the suggestion of 
constant suffering, give rise to feelings of disgust and horror. 
We do not believe that the owners who thus treat their patient 
horses realize the pain and injury they inflict. If they would 
carefully observe, they would see that the animal is peculiar in 
construction, the head and neck balancing the body on the 
fore part, which has to support nearly two-thirds of the weight. 
When the ability of the animal to maintain this balance by 
proper adjustment of its head is prevented, as it is completely 



56 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

by the tight check-rein, the fore limbs and all the chest muscles 
are subject to unnatural strain, which at any time may lead to 
disease. Again, the straining outward of the head compresses 
the spinal cord at the base of the skull, and produces inflam- 
mation, paralysis and death. The experience of every veterin- 
arian has cases where this foolish custom has ruined or de- 
stroyed the horses on which it had been practiced. 

All that can be said in favor of blinders or a check-rein, is 
that they are fashionable, and the delicate sense of not inter- 
fering with others prevents speaking of the subject when we 
see horses' heads drawn up as high as the strength of the rein 
will bear; and yet, should not every such sentiment be laid 
aside, when we see those abused and tortured that cannot act 
and speak for themselves? The owner has no right to say: 
"This is my animal, and I may do as I please." Ownership 
carries with it the duty of kind and generous treatment. God 
may have conferred on man the high prerogative of ruler over 
the animal world, but it is a rulership based on kindness, and 
with mutual obligations, and confers no right to inflict wanton 
and needless suffering. 

We admire the pluck and audacity — for so it was called, 
but really a courage coming from deepest tenderness and 
sympathy — of the president of a Humane Society in a large 
western town. A law had been passed forbidding the over- 
check, but no one cared or dared make themselves unpopular 
by putting it in force. He was a distinguished attorney, and 
lived at the extreme of the main street, while his office was at 
the other. Every day as he walked along the crowded street, 
his eyes were searching for tight checks, and when he saw one, 
he deliberately walked up, without a word, and cut it in two. 
Then he walked on, without replying to the animated conver- 
sation of the driver, or with simply, " Take the law! " 

ENCLISH BAND OF MERCY. 

In the English Band of Mercy, there is the story of a little 
girl who had equal courage and more self-sacrifice: 

Kate Johnson, a little girl, was one day standing ready 
dressed to go out, at the window of a London house. A lady 
had promised to take her for a drive, and the little girl, 
delighted at the thought of going, was waiting. Presently the 



RECITATIONS. 57 

carriage drove up to the door, but the little girl's pleasure was 
all gone when she saw the horses had tight check-reins on. 

" Oh, mother," said she, "the horses have got check-reins 
on; need I go?" 

"No, my dear," said her mother; "if you would really 
rather not go." 

"HI must go, I must," she said, "but I shall be miser- 
able all the time, for I can't bear to ride behind horses who are 
in pain." 

So Kate decided not to go; she gave up the pleasure of the 
drive, because she would not have any part in treating horses 
cruelly. The reader may say: " It was very good of her to 
give up the drive, but it did not do anything towards stopping 
the use of the rein; she was only a little girl, and what could 
her example do? " But let him wait until he has heard the end 
of the story, and then see whether the example of a child was 
without influence. 

Kate's mother went down to the lady in the carriage, to say 
that her daughter would rather not go for the drive. The lady 
was surprised, and begged to know the reason. When she was 
told, " Check-reins," she exclaimed: " I never knew that my 
horses had check-reins on! " 

The lady was quite ignorant of the fact; but should not 
people who keep horses look to their comfort? Perhaps she 
had never troubled herself to think whether her horses were ill- 
used or not. 

So the carnage drove away, and the little girl was left be- 
hind. A few days afterwards what was the child's delight to 
have a letter, saying that the lady had inquired into the matter, 
and the check-reins were no longer used, so that the horses 
could now trot along happily in freedom. 

Horses in carriages with light loads may suffer greatly by 
having their heads drawn up, by means of hard bits pressing 
their sensitive mouths, but draft horses with heavy loads en- 
dure greater infliction. 

A few weeks ago, two horses were drawing each a load of 
coal up a rising ground in the suburbs of our city. The 
hinder horse had the check-rein swung loosely on his neck, and 
the animal was hanging his head forward, and by throwing his 
weight into the collar, was dragging his load steadily and with- 
out undue strain on his muscles and joints. The foremost 



58 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

horse, with his load, was braced up with a tight check-rein, his 
head cramped and raised, his mouth fretted, and every joint 
and muscle starting and strained at each step he took. The 
two men were talking to each other, and the carter of the 
hinder horse was heard to say, "Bill, go and give thy horse his 
head; he'll pull that load easier." Bill went and let down the 
check-rein. The horse immediately did his work in a way 
which conveyed the relief he felt as clearly as if he had said: 
"There, thank you; I'm all right now." We would advise 
everyone who has the charge of a draught horse when he is at 
work, to follow the advice, "Give thy horse his head; he'll pull 
that load easier." 

If you do not believe that the check-rein is cruel, and de- 
structive to usefulness and health, put one on yourself. Put a 
pencil in your mouth, with cords at each end; draw them tightly 
over the top of your head, and tie them to your coat collar. 
Now, what a figure you make! Do you think that you are 
graceful? Can you do any kind of work without painful effort? 
Now put an extra pair of lines held in the rough hands of a 
driver, and when you do not prance to suit his whim, let him 
line you up with his whalebone whip. Ah! ha! You begin to 
know what the life of a horse really is! 

The humane movement has set itself between those that 
being dumb cannot speak for and defend themselves, and their 
persecutors. It essays to educate the people away from cru- 
elty. He who turns aside to avoid treading on a worm, is he 
who is most kind to his fellowmen. 



HOW CHRISTMAS CAME TO THE POORHOUSE. 

BY EBEN E. REXFORD. 
[As told by the Rose that Grew in the Poorhouse Window.] 

One day there came to the poorhouse a woman whose head 

was white 
With the snows of sixty-odd winters, and never a sadder sight 
Have I seen — and I've seen full many! — than the poor, old 

wrinkled face, 
All wet with tears as they left her in the pauper's lodging-place. 



RECITATIONS. 59 

" I don't want to die in the poorhouse," she said, with a heart- 
breaking moan. 
And the grief of the poor old creature would have touched a 

heart of stone. 
"Why couldn't they let me stay there? — it wouldn't be long, I 

know! — 
And end my days in the old home? Oh, how can they treat 

me so?" 
By and by she told me her story. Her husband had long been 

dead. 
" He died when Benny, my youngest, was ten years old," she 

said. 
"An' I've been so glad, so thankful, that he didn't live to 

know 
What was in the hearts of the children that he loved and 

trusted so. 
'My children, be kind to your mother,' he told 'em the day 

he died. 
' I know you will care for her always,' an' he called 'em to his 

side — 
Robert, an' Marthy, an' Sarah, an' 'Promise me, children,' 

said he; 
An' they promised that they would be kind to an' always take 

care o' me. 
Robert, the oldest, was twenty when his father died, in May, 
An' he took things in his own han's in a masterful kind o' way. 
An' if I tried to advise him he wouldn't lis'en to me, 
' For women don't understand bisness, though they think they 

do,' said he. 
So it wasn't long afore Robert had everything all his own 

way. 
An' rather than live in a jangle, I didn't have much to say. 
An' it seemed as if Marthy an' Sarah had somehow got the idee 
That they knew better than I did, an' they wouldn't lis'en to 

me. 
Benny an' I — poor Benny, who loved me better than they — 
We knew that we wasn't wanted, we felt we was both in the 

way; 
But we jest hel' fast to each other, an' he'd tell me of many a 

plan 



60 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

That was goin' tu make things diff'rent when he got to be a 

man. 
It seemed as if Robert jest hated the boy for his share in the 

farm. 
An' he blamed him for this thing an' that thing, tho' he never 

was guilty of harm; 
An' at last I said, ' Benny, don't stay here! It'll kill me to 

have you used so. 
It'll be awful lonesome without you, but I'll stan' it — just pack 

up an' go.' 
An' he went, 'Run away,' Robert told 'em. 'Good rid- 
dance,' says Marthy, says she. 
But it seemed as there'd ben a fun'ral an' the only mourner 

was me. 
Oh, Benny, my Benny, my baby ! He loved me, an' what 

would he say 
If he knew I was here in the poorhouse, an' they called me a 

pauper to-day? 
By an' by, when Robert got marri'd, the girls said that they 

wouldn't stay 
To be bossed 'round by his wife; an' left home, an' they live in 

the city to-day. 
Marthy marri'd a man that's got money — they say he's as rich 

as can be; 
But she'll let me die here in the poorhouse — an' Sarah's as cruel 

as she. 
Robert's wife — she was alius ag'inst me, an' Robert would 

say she was right, 
An' I couldn't do nothin' to suit 'em — it was find fault from 

mornin' to night. 
I tried hard to make 'em no trouble, I wanted to earn my own 

way, 
But I couldn't, an' that is the reason I'm here in the poorhouse 

to-day." 
It was the morning of Christmas, and we heard the glad bells 

ring 
In the joy that comes at the birthday of Christ, our Savior- 
King. 
M The day'll bring gladness to most folks," she said, with a 

sorrowful sigh, 



RECITATIONS. 61 

" But when one's homeless an' friendless it's the best of all 

blessin's to die. 
" I wonder if Robert, an' Marthy, an' Sarah '11 think to-day 
Of the mother they sent to the poorhouse, to get her out o' the 

way, 
As they're eatin' their Chris'mas dinner? God grant they may 

never know 
What it is to have their children turnin' ag'inst 'em so. 
I wish I could hear from Benny, jest a word from him to-day, 
To say that he loves his mother as he did when he went away. 
Lis'en! There's somebody knockin'! I'll go to the door an' 

see — 
Mebbe the children are sorry, an' are sendin' after me! 
The door swung back on its hinges to let the visitor past. 
" Mother! My poor, old mother, it's Benny come back at 

last!" 
She felt his strong arms round her, his kiss on her withered 

cheek, 
And for one long, happy moment it seemed that she could not 

speak. 
Then, with a sob that choked her, she whispered, "Oh, my 

boy! 
Thank God, I sha'n't die in the poorhouse! " And the bells ali 

rang for joy! 



INTEREST THE CHILDREN. 

BY CEO. T. ANCELL. 

It is very easy to enlist the sympathies of children in the 
animal world. Take, for instance, the history and habits of 
birds; show how wonderfully they are created; how kind to their 
young; how useful to agriculture; what power they have in 
flight. The swallow that flies sixty miles an hour, or the frig- 
ate bird which, in the words of Audubon, "flies with the veloc- 
ity of a meteor," and, according to Michelet, can float at an 
elevation of ten thousand feet, and cross the tropical Atlantic 
Ocean in a single night; or those birds of beauty and of song, 
the oriole, the linnet, the lark, and, sweetest of all, the night- 
ingale, whose voice caused one of old to exclaim, "Lord, what 



62 ANGELL PRIZE- CONTEST 

music hast thou provided for saints in heaven, when $hou hast 
afforded such music for men on earth? " 

Or, take that wonderful beast of the desert, the camel, 
which, nourished by its own humps of fat, and carrying its own 
reservoirs of water, pursues its toilsome way across pathless 
deserts for the comfort and convenience of man. 

Is it not easy to carry up the minds and hearts of chil- 
dren by thoughts like these from the creature to the infinitely 
wise, good and powerful Creator? 

I believe there is a great defect in our systems of educa- 
tion. I believe that in our public schools it is quite as possible 
to develop the heart as the intellect, and that when this is 
required and done, we shall not only have higher protection for 
dumb creatures, and so increased length of human life, but also 
human life better developed and better worth living. I believe 
that the future student of American history will wonder that 
in the public schools of a free government whose very existence 
depended upon public integrity and morals, so much attention 
should have been paid to the cultivation of the intellect, and so 
little to the cultivation of the heart. 

The wonderful growth of societies for the prevention of 
cruelty to animals is a subject with which probably some of you 
are familiar; how they have stretched out their protecting arms, 
not only in this country, but in Europe, Asia, Africa, and many 
islands of various oceans, numbering among their members 
many of the noblest, best and most illustrious of the world's 
citizens. In England the Royal Society is under the patron- 
age of the Queen, and its President a member of the Queen's 
Privy Council. 

The first audience I had the pleasure of addressing there 
some years ago was presided over by one of the most learned 
men in England, the Lord Bishop of Gloucester and Bristol, 
and the gentleman who moved the vote of thanks was Field 
Marshal Sir John Burgoyne, very near the head of the British 
army; the second was at the house of the Baroness Burdett- 
Coutts — probably, next to the Queen, the most highly respected 
woman in England. 

In France, Germany, and elsewhere, wherever I have 
traveled in Europe, I have found the same. One German soci- 
ety numbers among its members twenty-three generals and over 
two hundred officers of the German army. 



RECITATIONS. 63 

In my own State of Massachusetts, I think that no chari- 
table society of the State has on its roll of officers and members 
more distinguished and influential names than the Massachu- 
setts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. I think 
that no society in the State is better known, or more popular. 

But, in the limited period allotted me, one thing I do have 
time to tell you; and that is, that we long ago found that the 
great remedy for all these wrongs lies, not in laws and prose^ 
cuting officers, but in the public and private schools; that a 
thousand cases of cruelty can be prevented by kind words and 
humane education, for every one that can be prevented by 
prosecution. 



A WORD FOR OUR WOOLLY FRIENDS. 

BY ISABEL C. BARROWS. 

Years ago, when some of us whose heads are growing sil- 
very as wool were young, one of the most picturesque scenes 
in the course of the year was the sheep-washing and shearing. 
How well we recall a certain pool filled by a dancing brook 
that came purling down the hillsides of Vermont! Into a fold 
by the side of this pool the sheep were driven on a fine June 
morning, and one by one were caught in strong arms and dipped 
into the water, where they were well washed. Then they were 
allowed to dry in a grassy paddock; and, when in the right con- 
dition, the sharp shears went snip, snip, through the clean, 
white wool, till the fleece was left in a pile on the grass, and 
the sheep bounded away light of foot and light of heart to its 
impatient lamb. 

It all comes back as we recall it, — the busy scene, the 
hurrying shears, the swashing waters, the baa-ing of the lambs, 
the scent of the wild strawberries in the air, and overhead the 
bright June sun. The wind blew fresh and cool over the New 
England hills, but there were always sheltered corners where 
the new-shorn animals could huddle together when they were 
tired of frisking, or, if a storm came up, they were driven in hot 
haste to the big barn floor; for the life of a single sheep was of 
value on those small farms, even if the instinct of kindnes* 



64 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

would not have prompted the owner to protect the dumb crea- 
ture whom his own needs had robbed of its warm clothing. 

Not long ago, in recalling these picturesque bits of New 
England life in a conversation with a well-known artist, J. J. 
Enneking, he said that all those simple customs had changed. 
Whereas then the farmer took the fleece to mill and had it 
carded into soft rolls, which his wife spun into yarn and knit 
into stockings, or wove into good, durable "homespun" for 
family clothes, now the wool is sold to the agents who scour the 
country for it, and insist on having it without much reference 
to the season. The result of this demand is that farmers shear 
their sheep so early in the year that great suffering results to 
these naked animals; and, though the farmer's purse may ap- 
parently grow heavier, his gentler feelings are seared, and in 
the black shadow of the mighty dollar he loses, as do money- 
worshipers in the city as well as the country, that gentleness 
of nature which shields the unprotected everywhere. 

With Mr. Enneking's permission, his own version of the 
present state of things in Northern New England is here 
given: 

"I wanted to paint some lambs and sheep, especially at 
the time of sheep-washing. I thought I might weave into my 
picture boys, bare-legged, with trousers rolled up, etc. I had 
in my mind a picture of it all. But, when I got down into the 
country, I was too late. It was just when our spring here was 
in its glory, between the ioth and 20th of May. I found that 
they were all sheared, with a few exceptions. One or two men 
had not sheared their sheep because they were too humane. 
After I had inquired into it, I made up my mind that the next 
year I would go into the country sooner. So the next year I 
went earlier. I left here when the spring was about half over, 
in the early part of May. To my surprise, I was told again 
that the most of the sheep had been sheared, some of them the 
first of April, some earlier, to save the washing and the loss of 
the fleece when they let the sheep out. I hunted all over a 
certain section of country in Maine and in New Hampshire, 
but I found it was the same everywhere. The wool agents 
were around, making bids and bargains early; and they were 
very anxious to have the wool as clean as possible. A great 
deal of gravel gets into the wool after the sheep are allowed to 
run about. When they are first let out in the spring, they 



RECITATIONS. 65 

have so much wool on their backs that they go to the trees and 
stone walls and rub it off, so that what they lose is quite an 
item. 

"I wanted to find some one who could tell me where there 
was a farm where they had sheep; and I was advised to go on 
Sunday to the district school-house, where they had a union 
religious service, to which the farmers came. It was suggested 
that there I might find some farmers who had not sheared their 
sheep. On my way to the place I fell in with a man going 
there, and had a long conversation with him, and among other 
things he said that they had been rather unlucky with their 
sheep. He said that in that school district they had lost over 
two hundred, which had died from exposure after they had 
been sheared. He said many had consumption; and often 
sheep that really had that disease were sold to butchers. Cer- 
tain farmers sell sheep as soon as they begin to cough, so it is 
not always safe in spring to eat mutton. 

"When I came to the grocery store, I was incensed at the 
unconscious brutality of these people. I had a general con- 
versation with some of them. They took me to be a wool 
agent, because I was so interested in the sheep; and they told 
me they would have to have more for the wool than they had 
been having. They tried to pump me to see what I would pay. 
I thought I would let them go on; and one said: " I can't 
afford to sell so cheap when we cut the wool so early, for we 
lose too many sheep, I lost three sheep in the last cold snap, 
and my neighbor lost twenty-eight. Still another hauled his in 
on a sled, and about half were resuscitated. If he hadn't done 
that, every one would have been dead by morning.' 

" If you go round the country on a chilly day, you will see 
the little lambs in the fence corners, all huddled up together. 
They do not jump around like lambs. It is not an uncommon 
thing, as one walks through the pastures, to come upon a dead 
lamb. 

"These men said it did not pay to drive the sheep in every 
night, nor to look after the little lambs, because they did not 
bring enough to pay for the trouble. They said they got more 
for the wool, especially when they sheared early, and that it 
paid better to get a good price for the wool, even if they did 
lose the lambs. They said, however, that it did not pay if they 
lost half of the lambs. They put it all on the ground of money. 



66 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

They did not seem to think anything of the suffering of the 
sheep as they were freezing in the night. 

"At last I got provoked, and I told them I wasn't an agent, 
and that, if I were, I wouldn't buy a pound of such men. I 
found they were evangelical, and were in the habit of giving 
money to send the gospel to the heathen. I told them it would 
be better to keep it, and send for some missionary to come and 
teach them their duty to the dumb animals; that 1 considered 
it was the essence of heathenism not to take care of a brute 
that could not take care of itself." 



CATCHING THE COLT. 

BY MARIAN DOUCLAS. 

With forehead, star, and silver tail, 

And three white feet to match, 
The gay, half-broken, sorrel colt 

Which one of us could catch? 

"I can," said Dick; " I'm good for that;" 

He slowly shook his empty hat. 

"She'll think 'tis full of corn," said he; 

"Stand back, and she will come to me." 

Her head the shy, proud creature raised 

As 'mid the daisy flowers she grazed; 

Then down the hill, across the brook, 

Delaying oft, her way she took; 

Then changed her pace, and, moving quick, 

She hurried on, and came to Dick. 

" Ha! ha! " he cried, " I've caught you, Beck! 

And put the halter 'round her neck. 

But soon there came another day, 

And, eager for a ride — 
"I'll go and catch the colt again; 

I can," said Dick with pride. 

So up the stony pasture lane, 
And up the hill, he trudged again; 
And when he saw the colt, as slow 



RECITA TIONS. 67 

He shook his old hat to and fro, 
" She'll think 'tis full of corn," he thought, 
"And I shall have her quickly caught." 
"Beck! Beck! " he called; and at the sound 
The restless beauty looked around, 
Then made a quick, impatient turn, 
And galloped off among the fern. 
And when beneath a tree she stopped, 
And leisurely some clover cropped, 
Dick followed after, but in vain; 
His hand was just upon her mane, 
When off she flew as flies the wind, 
And, panting, he pressed on behind. 
Down through the brake, the brook across, 
O'er bushes, thistles, mounds of moss, 
Round and around the place they passed, 
Till, breathless, Dick sank down at last; 
Threw by, provoked, his empty hat, — 
"The colt," he safd, " remembers that! 
There's always trouble from deceit! 
I'll never try again to cheat! " 



THE BOY WHO TURNED HIMSELF INTO A 
THISTLE. 

BY HUDSON TUTTLE. 

I do not know in what country he lived, or when, but I 
know there was such a boy, of whom this story is told as a les- 
son and a warning. This boy, whose name is lost — is held in 
such uncanniness it is never spoken — was as bad as a boy well 
could be. He was cruel, and consequently a coward. He feared 
those superior to him, and was a tyrant to those in his power. 
He was insolent to his brothers, teased his sisters, amused 
himself by tormenting the cat, kicking the faithful dog, robbing 
their nests and throwing stones at the birds. A gun was his 
delight, and to kill and maim the happy songsters delightful 
pastime! He was like a thorn, which cannot be touched with- 
out harm, and made every one who approached uncomforta- 



68 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

ble. Hence he was avoided, and the detestation in which he 
was held increased his hatred and cruelty. 

This could not continue forever. One may go on in a 
crime, but the day comes when he receives his deserts. One 
day this boy was sent out into the forest. His mother sent 
him to bring an armful of branches, such as fall to the ground 
when the wind blows, for she wanted to heat her oven and bake 
bread for the family. 

She sent him early, for she was in haste; and it was now 
afternoon and he had not gathered a twig. He had a little 
squirrel, which he had hit with a stone, tied by the legs to his 
belt, panting with pain, and a nest of young birds in his hand, 
while their mother was calling with loud, sad notes in a tree 
overhead. He was holding them up in his left hand to induce 
the mother to fly near that he might hit her with a stone which 
he held in his right. 

At that moment an angel came out of the bypath and 
stood before him. He did not know that it was an angel. We 
rarely know when angels appear, for they do not come as 
angels, with light and sheen of wings, and before we know who 
they are, they are gone forever, past recall, with the oppor- 
tunity they offer us. 

This angel appeared as a sweet and gentle lady, but there 
was a firm and dauntless light in her eyes, and her musical 
voice had the tone of command. 

"Come, boy," she said, " why do you torment these in- 
nocent creatures? Do you not know that they feel as keenly 
as you? " 

He was silent, and she continued: "How would you like 
to be bruised by a stone thrown by a giant, and then tied by 
your arms and feet to his belt?" 

" Well, I am not a squirrel," he responded, doggedly; " it 
don't hurt 'em." 

"Assuredly it hurts them as much as it would you. They 
feel as keenly as you, and to harm them is a crime. " 

" I like it," he replied insolently, " and if you don't you'd 
better keep away." 

"You ' like it.' I pity you, while I detest the cruel dispo- 
sition that is yours. Put the nest where you found it in the 
branches." With reluctance he replaced the nest and the old 
bird hovered over it. 



RECITATIONS. 69 

"Now unloose the squirrel." 

Again he hesitated, but the angel approached with imperi- 
ous gesture, and he set it free. But as it limped away his 
angry temper arose and he hurled the stone he held at the 
time and struck the little animal on the back. It lay gasping 
for breath in mortal agony. 

With mingled pity and reproach the angel said: 

"You have reached the end. Now you must take your 
choice. You must turn and do right, or go on and become as 
your thoughts and actions make you." 

"Let me go," he said, annoyed and ashamed. "I don't 
care what you or anybody thinks of me." 

" Do you not wish to become respected and beloved? Do 
you not desire to have the regard of friends? Surely you do 
not want to be hated as wantonly cruel? " 

" Go away, or I'll hit you!" he cried, seizing a fallen 
branch and lifting it as though he would strike. 

As he spoke a thorn grew out of his arm and another from 
his shoulder. He began to laugh at the strange appearance 
and, with his mind full of malice, he thought how he could 
hurt his playmates by taking hold of them. He ran toward 
home, but as he ran, he felt a strange sensaticn and saw his 
arms expanded into leaves covered with spines. 

" I shall not have to carry pins any more," he said to him- 
self, " for these are sharper than needles." 

Just as he reached the door of his home, he found that he 
could go no farther. His toes had lengthened into roots and 
reached down into the ground, and he became transformed 
into a hateful thistle. His head became the blossom, and all 
the bad thoughts he had entertained became seeds, and his 
hair was changed to the downy egret that bore them away on 
the wind. 

His mother becoming anxious for his return, for the more 
wayward the son is the more solicitous his mother will be for 
him, went in search. She saw the thistle by her door and said: 

' « What a rank and hateful weed ! How soon it has grown ! 
And how like that bad boy of mine, pricking and hurting 
everyone who approaches him." 

She never found her boy. She did not know that he had 
met an angel, one of whom stands by the portals of every 
human soul, and, if despairingly grieved, deserts its charge. 



70 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

Then, left to its own wayward will, that soul reaps the harvest 
its hands have sown and becomes like unto its thoughts. 

In the autumn days, when through the misty air the south 
wind soughs over the heated fields, the thistle-downs are seen 
hurrying through the air, each bearing a seed, some falling in 
gardens to spring up and smother the lilies and roses, others 
in fields of grain, or in pastures, to displace the sweet grasses 
and rob the cattle pasturing there. 

So bad thoughts are wafted abroad to take root in the 
garden of the soul where they find lodgment. Then love 
withers, affection is blasted; sympathy, kindness and gentle- 
ness are overshadowed by hate, malice, cruelty and revenge. 

He who turns aside to avoid stepping on the worm in his 
path, shows a character the angels of heaven delight to honor, 
and pronounce its possessor blessed. 



A BLACK EYE FOR LAGER BEER, AND A BIER 
FOR LAGER. 

BY M. E. SERVOSS. 

["Dot Pier Ish Not Goot." — A German's Reasoning. — Dat 

Boy Fritz.] 

So you vants me to dells you apout dot lager pier, does 
you? Veil, I dells you dot pooty quick. You see mine leetle 
poy Fritz blaying ofer dare, de von dot ish shtanding oop mit 
his head on top off de grount? Veil dot poy ish shust awful 
schmart; I soomdimes dinks dat ven he ish grown oop he vill 
pe shust so schmart like his fadder. 

Veil, von day ven I vas trinking my pier out in de garten, 
Fritz he cooms oop, an' says he, "Fadder, dot pier ish awful 
goot, von't you gifes me soom?" Dot makes me schump a 
leetle inside, but I holds myself shtill and asks him : "How 
you know it ish goot, Fritz?" "Veil," says he, " ven you virst 
sends me py dot saloon mit a pail for pier, it looks nice and I 
taste a leetle, but it vas not very goot; next dimes I taste him 
again an' he vas a leetle petter, an' de next dimes he vas petter 
yet, an' py-an'-py I likes him shust so veil as I can. Ven I. 
gets to pe a pig mans, like you, fadder, I drinks him all day 



RECITATIONS. 71 

long. Oh! ven I drinks pier I feels so goot an' jolly; let me 
hafe soom now, f adder, von't you? " 

You petter pelieve I felt yust dreatful to hear my poy talk 
dot vay. First I vish soom — vot you call him — earthquake 
might make von hole in de grount an' dooks me right in; 
an' next I dinks I cannot go deat now, pecause I must safe 
my poy, mine leetle Fritz. It's all very well, I tought, for a 
pig man to trink his pier dwo, dree dimes a day; but ven a 
leetle poy likes him so veil dot he vonts to trink all de dimes, 
den dot poy vill be schraped oop out of de gutter soom day an' 
pe daken to de calaboose, an' de next dimes he goes to de pen- 
i-ten-ti-ary, vere dey puts peoples in behint iron pars yust like 
vild animals in dere cages. Oh, my leetle Fritz; vot shall I 
say to dat poy? If I dells him pier ish not goot for him, den 
he says it makes him feel goot, an' it does not hurt his fadder; 
an' if I say it ish vicked, den he will say: " Fadder, vot makes 
you so vicked?" An' if I say he must not dook pier, den he 
vill say noddings; but ven he gits dot pier first den he vill go 
py de saloon and spend his pennies for pier, and de mans vill 
gife him some more yust to see how funny he vill act. Oh, if 
I had nefer send him py dot saloon! He knows de roat so easy 
now, he has peen go efery tay for dwo years, an' I tought it so 
schmart ven he vas pig enough to go after pier for his fadder. 
Oh! vat schall I do? Ah, now I hafe it! Somebody dells me 
vonce dot pier vas pad for any podies; dot de great German 
Liebig says so, but I don't pelieve it den, pecause I vants my 
pier; now I guess it ish drue, an' I vill get me some pooks an' 
reat all apout it, an' I vill dells Fritz dot I hafe found dat pier 
ish not goot forde pig mans, nor de leetle mans, an' ve must 
bofe shtop it; den he vill shtop pecause he vill vant to do like 
his fadder, aint it? 

Den I tought, "Dot ish all right, only, maybe, Fritz don't 
pelieve it, pecause he vants his pier yust like his fadder did." 

How I did vish dere vas not a saloon in de land; an' den I 
recolmember how a mans say vonce, "Dere vill not be von sa- 
loon in de coundry in den year from now, if efery man does his 
duty and fotes de Prohibishun dicket efery dimes." 

Oh, how mad dot make me den, but somevay it ton't make 
me so mad like dot now; it sounds goot. 

Veil, I dells Katrina; she laughs an' says, yust to dry me, 
" I guess you drink some lager pooty quick vens he coomes 



72 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

along, ain't it? " An' I says, " Katrina, you dinks I cares not- 
tings for dot leetle Fritz?" An' py-an'-py, ven I goes ofer py 
the shtore, Shake, he asks me to go out mit him an' haf some 
pier. An' I dells him mebbe he petter hadn't talk dot vay to 
me. I vas von demperance man now. 

" Vot! you a demperance crank? " says Shake, and he vos 
so oxcited dot he stepped pack into a half pushel measure dot 
stood oop gainst de vail, an' ven he got oop he said he 
"vouldn't gife den dollars to do dot again." 

An' I tole him "he might dake me for dwo cranks if he 
vants to, but I don't trink no more of dot pier." 

An' he says: "Pier don't hurt any man," pecause it nefer 
hurt him; and I asks him how he got dot plack eye? " An he 
says dot he fell from de cellar to de garret, yesterday, an' 
shtucka knot-hole in his eye. An' I dells him if I vas a demper- 
ance mans I don't got some knot-holes in my eyes; ain't it? 

I dells you, mine friendt, I vas a petter man now I shtop 
dot pier, an' I feels petter, an' Katrina, she says I looks petter 
(dot makes me feel a leetle sheap). Ven a man trinks his pier 
an' shmokes his pipe, he gets to pe nottings put a pier-par- 
rel on doo legs, vid a shmoke-shtack on top of it. You dink a 
man has a right to make a shmoke-shtack of himself, eh? 

So you see I ish von of dose prohibishins cranks, an' I 
vants to dells you yust von ting; you can't turn dot kind of 
cranks but von vay, neider, dot's yust so sure as my name is 
Schnider. An' I ish going to safe dot leetle Fritz somevay, an' 
if I can't keep him avay from the pier, den I yust fotes so ash 
to keep de pier avay from him ven he croes oop, dots all. 



SAINT CHARLEY. 

Bf EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 



There's grief in my heart and an empty stall 

In the barn, which was Charley's twenty years. 
The golden straw is heaped for his bed, 
The hayrack filled where he long has fed, 
The yellow corn in his manger lies 
Which always gladdened his faithful eyes, 



RECITATIONS. 73 

His halter hangs in its wonted place, 

But he comes not in, with his lordly grace, 

For he died to-day! I shall never call 

With coaxing whistle which pleased his ears 
Him more to the comfort which life endears, 

For he sleeps with the noble dead. 
Be it said 

He sleeps with the noble dead. 

Yes, noble he was. Through his busy life, 

So varied and toilful on the farm, 
He was almost human in every act. 
Sometimes his driver good temper lacked; 
You know how it is with the help one hires; 
Nettles, and hornets, and folly's fires 
Get tangled inside of a coarse man's frame 
And his life dishonors his Maker's name. 
Sometimes Saint Charley endured a day 
Such men, but, discovered, they went their way; 
Our good dumb creatures we love too much 
To have them managed by any such! 
They shall not suffer, through toil and strife, 

From keen nerves tortured to wild alarm 
By a brutal driver's yells and blows. 

Nature shows 
'Tis folly to madden with oaths and blows! 

If, by such mis-hiring, Saint Charley was struck, 

He bore it much as a saint would do; 
He seemed to know that to every life 
Cometh injustice and pain and strife, 
And patiently he must bear his part. 
If a fool's whip cut with a stinging smart, 
He marked the source, and endured the pain, 
But still worked on for his owner's gain! 
He " broke" all the frisky colts to go, 
Hitched up by his side, stepping strong and slow; 
They learned that the harness and bit so queer 
Were naught to hurt them — no cause of fear! 
They came to think they were quite in luck 

Since old Saint Charley wore them too! 



74 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

His virtues should shine in a cherished book 

Which men look 
In often — it should be a gilded book. 

I have not told you how Saint Charles looked: 

He was dapple-gray in his younger days, 
But white as a saint's robe when he died. 
He was brimming with stately strength and pride. 
But not too haughty to prance and play, 
For the youngest colts would run, any day, 
Aw r ay from their mothers to play with him 
Who never was crabbed, nor rude nor grim 
But a jolly pattern for younger steeds, 
Who sensed, in a large degree, their needs. 
He never expected the colts to be 
As staid as a horse of twenty-three! 
If they bit, or reared, or kicked at him, 
He joined their frolic with lusty vim, 
For his four good legs were never crooked 
With ringbones, spavins, or any ways 

111 use essays 
To render wretched a horse's days. 

He rests at last near the scenes he loved! 

We gave him burial tearfully, 

And left him where he had reaped and plowed, 

Doing his truest in shine or cloud, 

Bravely bearing the heat or chill 

With steady patience and human will. 

The farm bell sounds as it used to do 

When his quick ears knew it rang, "Rest for you! 

A halt gave heed to the cheering sign 

That he and his driver might rest and dine. 

Rest on, old friend, where you lived and moved, 

Bearing your burdens right cheerfully. 
Sleep on with the noble dead. 

Be it said 
You sleep with the noble dead. 



RECITATIONS. 1 5 

A KICKING COW— SPOILED IN BREAKING. 

BY E. D. SHAW. 

Father was not a mechanical genius, but was good at busi- 
ness, and made first and last a heap of money. He got his 
start when the country was new, by keeping cows, mother be- 
ing an expert butter maker. 

Cows, you know, must have hay put up for their food dur- 
ing the winter. 

One season father built a long stack of prairie hay just 
west of, and running parallel with, the barn. He had not an 
eye for constructing anything correctly, so it happened that one 
end slipped down against the barn. Prairie hay is slippery stuff. 
Instead of taking time to pitch it up again, he built right on 
top of it where it was, so that when the stack was finished it 
had an L on one end, which commenced with the north end of 
the barn and made a lane between the hay and barn, with the 
south end open. 

But it was the cow, and not what she ate, that I began to 
write about, yet I trust you will excuse me if I delay long 
enough to speak of one other matter in connection with our 
dairy. I want to tell you about father's milk stool. 

He worked at it, off and on, for a number of days — prob- 
ably for a fortnight; but it was not a milkstool he was trying to 
make; it was a maul. He had selected the stick because the 
head end was very tough and knotty, and would stand to pound 
with for a long while. That is why it took such a length of 
time for him to chip and hack it down to the proper size. He 
dressed the handle from the same piece of wood, instead of 
boring a hole in the head for the purpose of inserting one. 
But what do you suppose was the result? Why, after all 
that labor he found the handle was so short he could 
not use it without stooping too much. Rather than lose all his 
work, he concluded to saw it off so it would be a little shorter; 
then saw half the head off, so as to leave a flat surface and make 
a milkstool out of the maul. We used that thing as a milk- 
stool for twenty years. 

I will give you a short account of a sin-sick cow, a terrific 



76 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

kicker, father had once, when I was a lad. This cow's name 
was Fidy; why she was called that is more than I can explain. 
Certainly not because of her fidelity. She was as vicious, re- 
fractory, self-willed, self-opinioned, and in every way as mean 
a cow as one may see in a life-time. 

It may be that the doctrine of original sin does not hold 
good in respect to live-stock; but, any how, Fidy was a great 
sinner. If she had not killed anyone the fault was not hers. 

This yellowish four-year-old, with white spots and a lop 
horn, would not submit to be milked, but kicked like an over- 
loaded gun. It made no odds how many rails high we built 
the yard, she could kick the pail over the rider. The only 
reason our limbs were not broken was because we kept too 
close and too far in front to receive the full benefit of her 
blows. 

One morning father had been trying without success to 
milk the nervous animal, until his breakfast got cold waiting 
for him. He was a man who would never give up, so he hal- 
loed me out to help him. We drove her into the cul-de-sac 
formed by the rick of hay and barn, heretofore described. 
Father stationed me at the opening, with a club, under strict 
orders not to let her pass me. Then he approached the enemy 
and offered terms. Quoth he, in a coaxing, trembling voice, 

"So-o, now, so . There's a lady. Ho, now. I won't hurt 

you. There! Be quiet. I'll give you some nubbins. That's 
a good Fidy. She's a lady." All this while he was carefully 
approaching with the pail in his left hand, while he made ex- 
perimental movements with the right. 

But, alas! Fidy wanted none of his compliments nor soft 
solder. Only one little thin stream found its way to the 
bucket before she let drive with her right foot, and uttering an 
unearthly bawl she ran up that stack like a cat. Of course it 
was poorly put up, and wasn't more than third-pitch, or, 
with all her agility, she could not have climbed it. 

There on top of the stack she stood, her tail whipping 
through the air with such force we looked for it to come off 
and fly over the barn; her eyes standing out of their sockets 
like door-knobs, and blazing like meteors, and her tongue 
hanging out of her mouth. What a picture to go on canvas, if 
only an artist had been there to make the sketch! Father 
stood pale-faced, and in blank astonishment gazed at the won- 



RECITATIONS. 77 

drous spectacle, I was afraid she would spring down on me 
like a panther, so I moved a trifle to one side. Despite the 
danger, the situation was so comical I chuckled! "Be still," 
said pa, in a sort of a hurt and angry tone. " Now we will go 
to breakfast," he added. 

Not a word spoke he during the meal, but after it was 
finished he said to my brother and myself (for there were two 
of us boys; the best one is sleeping in the graveyard): "Come, 
now, let's try that heifer again." 

She was still upon the summit of the stack, and by a sig- 
nificant toss of the horns, she bade defiance to the three of us. 
Brother and I pelted her down from the west side with sticks. 
Father had not an eye for throwing straight. "Now, boys," 
he said, " take the hcrses out of the stable, and we will drive 
her in there. Suiting the action to the word we soon had her 
safely in this enclosure. 

With one slip-noose we lassoed the lady about the horns, 
and with another around the nigh hind leg, and then we pulled 
her up taut. Father threw the rope over a high beam and gave 
the end to brother with instructions to haul up on it every time 
she should kick. "We took a snub around an upright with the 
other rope, and I held the end, fearing to tie it, lest she might 
throw herself and break her neck before we could give any 
slack. Then we were ready for the circus. 

We hoped for a time, as father began to strip slowly, she 
was going to be quiet; but suddenly she made a plunge, broke 
the upright to which she was snubbed, and darting to the west 
end of the stable, drew my brother, who was plucky and held 
on, clear up to the beam. There, for a moment, he swayed 
and dangled. If anyone had been passing he might have 
thought we were lynching a criminal; but after a bit the beam 
skinned the poor boy's knuckles, and he was obliged to release 
his hold, though he saved himself from falling. The frantic 
creature, finding herself clear, jumped right through the stable 
window, taking the two ropes and two boards with her and 
making the horses snort. 

But the word fail was not in pa's dictionary. We were 
hot on her trail. With those two ropes dragging it was not 
difficult to capture the insane cow; in fact, she caught herself 
as an end knot became fast between two rails. 

The next thin^ was tc f ry what could be done w r ithher feet 



78 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

up and back down. With a little manipulation of the ropes, 
Fidy was on her side; then we rolled the big frame onto its 
back against the fence. She twisted her head so out of line, if 
her neck had not been like India rubber it would have broken. 

One horn dug into the ground to the skull. The eye we 
could see was glazed and bloodshot. The rear legs rose into 
the air like a pair of plow handles. Surely, milk extracted from 
a cow in such paroxysms of fright would only be good to poison 
cats! I do not know why father milked it into a pail. 

" Now, fetch the pail," said father, with a tone of con- 
quest in his voice, and a twinkle of satisfaction in his eye. 

'Twas hard to come at the operation of extracting the white 
fluid, but father was equal to the occasion, though he had 
to turn his hand over and the stream described a curve in 
the air like a rainbow. I was stationed out about a rod and 
a half holding the pail in both hands to catch the milk as 
it descended. I got some of it in the pail, but more of it 
in my eyes. 

This was our last attempt to do anything with that high- 
kicker. The game was not worth the candle. 

We allowed her to resign her position in the dairy, and 
to go on full feed of corn to make beef. 

Father wisely remarked: "When I have another heifer to 
break I shall see she is not spoiled by rough treatment. Fidy 
would have been all right if she had been treated gently at 
first. She hated that cross Irishman who milked her, and 
was as much afraid of him as if he had been a wolf at her 
throat." 



SCENES IN NEW YORK COURTS. 

FROM PEN PICTURES BY CYNTHIA LEONARD. 
[The Tombs, New York City.] 

It is ten o'clock on Saturday morning. The judge occu- 
pies his seat of honor and the court-room is filled to overflow- 
ing. On the left of the judge is a small place enclosed with a 
railing, where the women friends of the prisoners are seated. 
Some are old and infirm, others younger, with babies and small 



RECITATIONS. 79 

children, who look thin and careworn; a few stout and mat- 
ronly; women young and fair to look upon, young girls, some 
scarcely in their teens, of all nationalities. A prisoner's name is 
called, and a sad-looking boy is brought forward by a big burly 
man. He looks up timidly, and answers in a feeble voice to 
his name. 

"You are accused," said the judge, " of stealing a wagon 
hammer. Are you guilty or not guilty? " 

"Guilty, your honor," he said tremblingly. 

"Have you any one here to defend you? " asked the judge. 

" No one, sir." 

" How old are you? " 

" Fifteen years, sir." 

" Have you a home? " 

"No, sir. I stop at a five-cent lodging-house." 

" Then you have no parents? " 

"No, sir, not as I knows of." 

" Have you any employment? " 

" No, sir; I used to sell papers, but got sick and ain't got 
no money to buy none now." 

"Why did you take the wagon hammer? " 

" I wanted to sell it for old iron to get suthin* to eat." 

Calling the prisoner by name the judge said: "You are 
sentenced to the penitentiary for one year." 

The poor lad was escorted from the room, looking the 
picture of despair. There was no one to mourn for him. 

The second prisoner is called and the same questions 
asked. 

"You are accused of stealing a bridle; are you guilty or 
not guilty?" "Guilty, your honor." "Have you a home?" 
"Yes, sir; I live with my grandmother." " How old are you?" 
"Sixteen years, sir." "Have you a business, or are you em- 
ployed in any way?" "I have been in a grocery, but the 
grocer wants a smaller boy now, and I can't find anything to 
do." 

Speaking his name, the judge said solemnly: "You are 
sentenced to prison for two years." 

A moan of bitter anguish is heard, and the old and feeble 
grandmother becomes wild with grief, and is rudely dragged 
from the room by the officers in charge, while she cries: "Oh, 
my poor, poor boy! Who will care for your poor old grand- 



80 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

mother now? " and sobs of anguish well up from her bruised 
heart. 

The third prisoner is the oldest child of a mother who 
presses a nursing babe to her breast as she holds her breath in 
painful suspense as the name of her darling is called. Great 
drops of sweat stand out on her forehead; and a wild appealing 
look follows the poor lad as he is led down the aisle to face the 
judge. He is not an ordinary looking boy. His carriage is 
erect, his head is well-shaped, and his features are strong. His 
face is really handsome, and there seems to be no fear or dread 
about him. He is tall for his age, and has an aristocratic 
bearing. 

"You are charged with stealing a set of surgical instru- 
ments; are you guilty or not guilty? " 

"I am not guilty, your honor. " 

" Have you any defense to make?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Who is your attorney? " 

" I have no attorney, sir. I am innocent and cannot afford 
counsel. I was hired to clean the doctor's office. Several 
people came in and out, and the doctor charges me with taking 
the missing instruments, which, I assure you, I never saw." 

A vicious-looking man of thirty or more testified that he 
saw him take the instruments. 

"You are sentenced to four years in the penitentiary," ex- 
claimed the judge in solemn tones. 

A flush crimsoned the face of the prisoner, and was fol- 
lowed by a deathlike pallor. 

" But, your honor," he exclaimed, appealingly. 

" Remove the prisoner," was the reply, and he was taken 
away, trembling in every limb. 

One fearful sob, and his mother fainted dead away. One 
of the younger women rescued the poor baby, and followed 
when the officers carried the unhappy mother out of the court- 
room. 

Several more prisoners departed in much the same way — 
all less than twenty-two years old. Two or more had employed 
attorneys, and were going to court to defend themselves. 

One young man whose hanaJome dark face and peculiar 
name denoted Spanish descent, responded to the judge in clear 



RECITATIONS. 81 

musical tones, though with an expression of doubt on his 
countenance, "Not guilty, your honor! " 

His counsel tried to explain that his client did not steal the 
watch from the pawnbroker. A horse running away when he 
was in the shop caused a commotion; he went out (with the 
watch in his hand) to see what was the trouble, and the pawn- 
broker had him arrested. 

"That will do," said the judge. "That is easily under- 
stood. I sentence you to five years' hard labor in State's 
prison." 

A very young and extremely pretty woman had been 
watching the entire proceeding with an intensely anxious look 
on her pale and tear-stained face. When she heard the sen- 
tence, she fell to the floor in a swoon. Her condition plainly 
demanded tender care, but she was giv^n the same rough treat- 
ment that had been extended to the others. 

A look of wild despair was on the face of the prisoner as 
he disappeared from view. 

I followed the young woman to the vestibule, where she 
revived. " Oh, my Franko; my poor Franko! He could get 
nothing to do to earn a penny honestly, and he did it to make 
me comfortable. He loved me so he would do anything for 
me. Oh, he tried so hard to be good and do right, but we were 
starving. Oh! I have no home now, nowhere to go; they will 
not have me in the hospital until next month, and I am not 
strong enough to work. We were so happy in all our poverty. 
Oh, God! Oh, God! where shall I go? What shall I do? 
My poor Franko struggled so hard to keep bread in my mouth. 
Yes, it was for me and his child that he took the watch. He 
was desperate. Now he must go to prison. When he comes 
out his wife and little child will be dead! " Again she became 
quite unconscious, and was sent to a hospital. I did not return 
to the court-room, though the examination had bui; fairly 
begun. 

Oh, Liberty! Oh, Justice! Why do you always punish 
the helpless and allow the powerful criminal to commit shock- 
ing crimes unmolested? Are greedy contractors fit to have 
the guardianship of prisoners? Humane workers, to the 
rescue! 



82 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 



VIVISECTION AND ITS EVILS. 

BY MISS ABBY A. JUDSON. 

[Miss Judson is the daughter of Adoniram Judson, the re- 
nowned Baptist missionary who went to Burrnah in the 
early part of the nineteenth century.] 

"Nature is an effect, of which God is the cause." God is 
life, and this life always works from lower to higher. The 
lowest organic forms share in this divine life. From crystal to 
moner, from moner to amoeba, from simple to complex, and 
more and more complex, the sensations ever becoming more 
acute, until the various grades of mammals appeared on our 
planet, reaching their acme in man. In complexity of consti- 
tution, and in acuteness of sensation, the advance from the 
moner to the lowest mammal is far greater than from the low- 
est mammal to the highest one — man himself. The life in a 
man or woman is no more truly a part of infinite life, or God, 
than is the life of the lowest creature of earth. With the ad- 
vancement in the forms of life has gradually evolved the su- 
premacy of mind over mere physical force. The ingenuity of 
man has enabled him to construct instruments of power and of 
adroitness, in order to effect certain purposes. These purposes 
are either useful or baneful. When man makes better shelters, 
better foods, better clothes, better schools, better men, he is 
carrying out the plans of infinite intelligence, and in this way 
does he act in line with the old saying, " God is love." When 
he makes engines for slaughtering men or lower creatures, or 
for torturing men or lower creatures, he is working in opposi- 
tion to the plans of deific love, and he is crucifying afresh the 
Nazarene, whose aim was to reveal God's love by removing the 
suffering of men and of animals. 

To be "one with God," is to occupy with docility one's 
own place in the scale of being, and to conform one's self to 
the natural laws of the universe. In this view; a horse, a dog, 
and other mammais lower than man, behave much better than 
man himself. A wild animal lives in accordance with natural 



RECITATIONS. 83 

law. If he be wounded, he seeks some natural appliance, and 
knows which one to select. Man does not live in accordance 
with natural law. He gluttonously stuffs unmasticated and 
unnatural food into his stomach, and creates a cancer there; or 
the engorged intestines writhe, and the stones and pits catch 
in his appendix vermiformis. Having brought on appendici- 
tis by his unnatural doings, having seen men die as did Don 
Carlos of Spain, by devouring six pounds of grapes at one 
"gorge," he thinks he will be scientific, and improve upon na- 
ture by cutting off the appendix vermiformis. Instead of un- 
derstanding that it was put in the body to warn by pain the 
gluttonous and the ignorant against eating unnatural food un- 
chewed, he says it was created by mistake. So he exercises 
his ingenuity by nailing dogs by their feet to a board, or cun- 
ningly strapping them to a vivisecting table, and cutting out 
their appendices. After practicing on dogs awhile, he gradu- 
ates, and then does it to men, and thinks he has done wonders, 
if eighty-two per cent survive the operation. He had better 
begin to teach men and boys to chew their food fine, as the 
great Gladstone was taught by his father. 

If my own unnatural acts, or those of my ancestors, have 
brought me to the condition that requires surgeons to torture 
animals to death in order to save my life by operating on me, 
I prefer to lie down and die, and then be cremated, so that my 
microbes will not be a source of ill to those who survive me. 
We may kill ferocious animals, whether tigers or bed-bugs, to 
prevent them from devouring us. Being still under the bane 
of a cannibal ancestry, who ate the flesh of harmless animals, 
we may be excused for doing the same till Americans have pro- 
gressed out of the carnivorous condition that awakens the con- 
tempt of a Hindoo or a Japanese. It is right to kill an animal 
or a human being (if he desire it) who is dying by slow inches 
by the tortures of a cancer or a fire. But to vivisect or kill an- 
imals for experimental science is wicked. He who vivisects 
an animal or an unwilling man with anaesthetics violates the 
natural laws which prove the existence and the nature of God. 
He who vivisects without anaesthetics does the work of a fiend. 
If God created man perfect, and then let him fall, he would be 
the arch-experimentalist of all. But God did not so do, and he 
does not create nor evolve his creation in that way. 

I am opposed to vivisection, because its practice endorses 



84 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

the brutal principle that " might makes right." The plea that 
it is right to inflict cruel tortures, because it teaches doctors 
how to cure diseases, is too Jesuitical for me, for it is doing evil 
that good (?) may come, and accords with the false saying, 
" The end justifies the means." I am opposed to vivisection, 
because witnessing it hardens and brutalizes the nature of those 
who see their elders and teachers doing it. Boys who see their 
professors torturing cats and rabbits, will do the same to their 
neighbor's cat in the back yard. We learn that Durant, the 
San Francisco doctor who cruelly murdered the two beautiful 
girls, his fellow church members, was an eager practicer of vivi- 
section of animals. And the terrible " Jack the Ripper," who 
disemboweled his victims so scientifically, is found to have been 
a fashionable surgeon of the West End of London. It was 
torturing and murdering animals that gave him his hapless 
skill. The groans and writhings of his agonized victims are 
now being expiated by him, as he helplessly shrieks within the 
padded walls of a secure cell in a mad-house. 

It is unnatural to vivisect, for it violates the natural law of 
the universe. It hardens the nature. It produces suffering be- 
yond our power to express or conceive. It degrades and de- 
bases all those who practice it. It should be forbidden by the 
laws of every State in the Union. 

I am opposed to vivisection, and I hereby petition for its 
total abolition. 



RETRIBUTIVE TREATMENT OP CRIMINALS. 

ILLUSTRATED BY IKE'S FALL INTO A WELL. 

The Humane Association of New York was organized 
August 1 2th, 1895, and commends itself to the attention of all 
thoughtful humane educators. Its objects are thus specified in 
one of the society's circulars: 

1. To effect through educative agencies and political ef- 
fort the abolishment of the death penalty. 

2. To secure the repeal of all enactments that are retrib- 
utive in spirit or purpose. 

3. To effect the transformation of all penal institutions 
into corrective and industrial schools. 



RECITATIONS. 85 

4. To extend legal aid and defense to the accused — upon 
discretionary approval of the Association — and helpful social 
influences to those upon whom unjust sentences may have been 
imposed. 

5. To encourage study of the causes that tend to induce 
the mental and emotional states from which criminal acts pro- 
ceed. 

The subtile laws which control the organization and ten- 
dencies of the human beings who find themselves in the midst 
of life without having had anything to do with either the mak- 
ing of their bodies or their souls, seem to shift the responsi- 
bility of crime from the criminal to environments which, prob- 
ably were prenatal. We come to consider criminals as unfor- 
tunates, and instead of treating them by the old law, "an eye 
for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," we ask: "How can we 
help them to overcome the tendencies ignorantly bequeathed 
to them by conditions which they did not make?" Retribu- 
tive punishment is not what this age deems wisest. The spirit 
of revenge should disappear from all our laws. The "you 
hurt me and I will hurt you; you scared me and I will scare 
you " spirit of punishment may be comically illustrated by the 
following story of a rather naughty little darkey who fell down 
a well. The whole tale is in St. Nicholas. As soon as his 
mother discovered what had happened, she ran to the house of 
her mistress screaming: 

"Oh, Mis's, Mis's, Mis's! My po' orphing chile have fell 
in de well, an' broke he naik, an' drowned hese'f on top o' dat, 
— an' he my precious baby, — an' de las' one I got!" 

Mrs. Templin, after dispatching Till to the field for the men, 
said: 

" I'm sorry in my heart for you, Judy. But maybe he has 
been mercifully saved from drowning. Lean over and look 
down as I turn the windlass." 

After a few turns, she knew by the feeling that the bucket 
had risen to the surface of the water, which was some four feet 
deep. 

"Now call him," she said. 

" Li'll' Ik'y! Li'll' Ik'y ! " shouted Judy. 

" Ma-a-a-me! " came up a sharp, plaintive answer from the 
great deep. 

"Is you down dar, precious?" 



86 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

"Eth, e-eth, 'm." 

"Well! Is you killed?" 

"No-no-no, 'm." 

"Well, well! Is you drowned? " 

"No-no-n-n-no, 'm." 

"Well, well! Is you done gone all ter pieces? " 

" No-n-n-n-no, 'm." 

" Is anyt'ing de matter wid mammy's precious boy-baby?" 

"I-k-k-k-co-o-old!" 

"Well, well! Whar is yer now? " 

"In— in de— b-b-bucket!" 

Mrs. Templin then directed the mother to urge the child 
to hold fast to the rope, while she herself would turn the wind- 
lass. 

"Dar now, you hear dat? Missus say she wan' my nice 
little darky to ketch tight holt ter de rope, — tight es a tick; an' 
she say she gwine draw him up wid her own blessed hands. 
Missus say she can't 'ford to lose likely little fellow like my lit- 
tle Ike, dat she can't. Yer hear, mammy's precious sugar- 
lump?" 

"E-e-e-eth, 'm." 

The winding began, and the mother being urged to encour- 
age Ike as much as possible during the ascent, she did as well 
as she could by such cheering remarks as these: 

"Jes' look at dat! Missus givin' her little nigger sech a 
nice ride! En mis's done tole mammy ter kill six chick'ns an' 
fry one o' 'em, an' bile one, and make pie out de res', an' all fer 
i'ir Ik'ys dinner. An' she say she gwine make daddy barb'- 
cue two pigs dis very evenin', an' nobody am' to tech a moufle 
on 'em 'cep'n Li'll' Ik'y, ef he'll holt on ter de well-rope. An' 
she say, mis's do, she jes' know her gweat big little Ike ain' 
gwine let dat rope loose 'an not git all dem goodies! " 

It is probable that in so brief a while never was promised a 
greater number of luxuries to a child, even one born to loftiest 
estate. Chickens, ducks, — indeed, the whole poultry yard was 
more than exhausted; every pig on the plantation was barbe- 
cued to a turn. During the ascent little Ike was informed, 
with solemnest assurance, that eatables of every description 
would be at his disposal forever. The time does not suffice to 
tell of other rewards, promised in the name of the munificent 
mistress, in the way of cakes, pies, tarts, syllabubs, gold and 



RECITATIONS. 87 

silver, and costly apparel! All this while Mrs. Templin, with- 
out uttering a word, turned the windlass slowly, steadily. 

When the bucket with its contents reached the top, and 
was safely lodged upon the ledge, the mother seized her pre- 
cious darling, his teeth chattering the while with the chill, and 
dragging him fiercely forth, said in wrathful tones: 

"A-cold, isyer? Well, ef I be bressed wid strength, an' 
ef dey is peachy-trees' 'nough in de orchid, an' in de fence-cor- 
ners, I'll warm yer. You, dat has skeert me inter fits, an' made 
me tell all dem big stories — an' dem on mist'ess, — dat I jes' 
knows I never ken git fergive fer 'em." And still holding him, 
she began striding toward the kitchen. 

" Judy! " called her mistress, sternly. "Judy, put that 
child down this minute! Aren't you ashamed of yourself? In- 
stead of being thankful that he wasn't killed, there you stand 
and are so angry with him you look as if you wished to kill him 
yourself. Now take him to your house and put some dry clothes 
on him. Then send him to me in the house where I'll have Till 
make some coffee ready for him. And mind you, now, Judy, 
if you lay hands on that child in anger, that won't be the last of 
it. Do, for goodness' sake, try to learn some reason about 
your children." 

Judy led him off suddenly, and, in spite of her mistress's 
injunctions, muttered direful threatenings, louder and louder as 
she proceeded, ending thus, as, having clothed him, she dis- 
patched him to the white house: 

"Never you min', sir; wait till Sunday, when mist'ess go 
ter meetin', an' you'll see. An' boy, ef you ever skeers me dat 
way agin I'll put you whar yer won' wan' no mo' water an' no 
mo' meat, and no mo' noth'n'. Idee! People all talkin' 'bout 
my chil'd git'n drownded same as puppies an' kitt'ns! Ought 
ter be 'shamed o' yourself. I is. I jes' 'spises ter look at yer! 
G' 'long out my sitel" 



SAVING MOTHER. 



The farmer sat in his easy chair, 
Between the fire and the lamplight's glare; 
His face was ruddy and full and fair. 
His three small boys in the chimney's nook 



88 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

Conned the lines of a picture-book; 

His wife, the pride of his home and heart, 

Baked the biscuit and made the tart, 

Laid the table and steeped the tea, 

Deftly, swiftly, silently; 

Tired and weary and weak and faint, 

She bore her trials without complaint, 

Like many another household saint — 

Content, all selfish bliss above 

In the patient ministry of love. 

At last, between the clouds of smoke 
That wreathed his lips, the husband spoke: 

" There's taxes to raise, an' interes' to pay — 

And ef there should come a rainy day, 

'Twould be mighty handy, I'm bound to say, 

T' have sumpthin' put by. For folks must die, 

An' there's funeral bills and gravestuns to buy — 

Enough to swamp a man, purty nigh. 

Besides, there's Edward an' Dick an' Joe 

To be provided for when we go. 

So 'f I was you, I'll tell you what I'd du: 

I'd be savin' of wood as ever I could — 

Extry fires don't do any good — 

I'd be savin' of soap and savin' of ile, 

And run up candles once in a while. 

I'd rather be sparin' of coffee and tea, 

For sugar is high, 

And all to buy, 
And cider is good enough drink for me; 
And I'd be kind o' careful about my clo'es, 
And look out sharp how the money goes — 
Gewgaws is useless, natur knows; 

Extry trimmin' 

'S the bane of women. 

I'd sell off the best of cheese and honey, 
And eggs is as good nigh about's the money; 
And as to the carpet you wanted new, 
I guess we can make the old one do. 
And as to the washer an sewin'-machine, 



RECITATIONS. 89 

Them smooth-tongued agents so pesky mean, 

You'd better get rid of 'em slick and clean. 

What do they know about women's work? 

Do they calkilate women was born to shirk? '• 

Dick and Edward and little Joe 

Sat in the corner in a row. 

They saw the patient mother go 

On ceaseless errands to and fro; 

They saw that her form was bent and thin, 

Her temples gray, her cheeks sunk in; 

They saw the quiver of lip and chin — 

And then with a wrath he could not smother 

Outspoke the youngest, frailest brother: 

You talk of savin' wood an' ile, 
An' tea an' sugar all the while, 
But you never talk of savin' mother! " 



THE BEER-SHOP. 

A WASHERWOMAN'S STORY. 

* * * But, alas, for poor Mary! It was not long before 
she came to grief. It seemed that her little family had been 
wonderfully prospered. What with Mike's daily wages and her 
own, and the money the "b'ys" earned selling papers, they 
had become quite rich people. They owned a bit of a house 
and had a snug little sum laid by. And now the desire to rise 
crept into Mary's ambitious heart. "Why shouldn't they live 
in a fine house some day and be as good as the best? " 

So she persuaded her steady old husband to set up a beer- 
shop — a favorite way of making money with that class of peo- 
ple — and only three months afterwards she came to me in great 
distress and poured out her soul in sorrow and repentance. 

"It's all along o' that cruel beer-shop," she groaned; "it's 
ruined us intirely? Be the Howly Father!" she cried, throw- 
ing up her arms in a passion of misery, " I wish this tongue had 
been pulled out o' me mouth — I wish black death had come to 
me, before iver I coaxed my Mike to go into it! An' he always 
the best of husbands! Man ys the time he's got up in the dead 
o' the night to get me a dhrink o' wather — he has indade, mum I 



go ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

And that fond o' the childer — coaxin' an' t'azin' 'em from morn- 
in' till night; and now he is that savage wid 'em that they run 
and hide when he comes a-near the house! Many's the bloody 
fight we've had along of 'em! Oh that I, their poor mother, 
should have to be always a-watchin', watchin', — slapin' or 
wakin' — lest harm come to 'em from their own father! God 
knows!" said she, scornfully, baring a bruised and bloody arm, 
"it's little I fear for meself, anyway. I'm a match for Mike, 
dhrunk or sober! barrin' a few bruises," with a sniff of disdain 
and putting down her sleeve. 

A little while after came the dread climax of her woe. I 
wish I could tell the story in Mary's very words: 

" For weeks gone, mum, Mike was niver, niver sober at all. 
Up in the mornin' and out for dhrink — mad crazy in it all day 
an' all night till his strength was gone from him intirely; then 
slapin' in his clothes whereiver he happened to be till he wakes, 
then ups an' to the dhrinks agin. 

"Well, mum, this is how it was: That night the childer 
was to bed an' asleep, an' I sat in me rockin'-chair croonin' to 
the baby — our little Dinny — an' feelin' a grain o' comfort creep- 
in' into my poor heart. How could I help it? — the baby was a 
smilin' up into me face, an' for a minute I forgot me trouble 
— yis, thank God! thank God! " she burst out vehemently, her 
poor old face drenched in tears. " Thank God! for that last 
blessed minute that I hild my baby in these arms I forgot that 
I had made me home a hell an' me husband a divil! " 

I shall never forget the power and expression of her words 
and looks* Even while I wept I could but admire, what I had 
often noticed, her wonderful dramatic power. 

" Yis," she went on, "I did forgit, an' I began to coax me- 
self into bel'avin' as things would all come right. Now that we 
had gi'n up the beer shop long since, Mike would come round 
in time. Poor Mike! me heart warmed to him. 

"So I was a-settin' there soft an' tinder like, an* the child 
was smilin' in me arms, when I heard Mike's step on the stairs. 
He burst into the room flourishin' his big stick in his fist, an' 
he comes up to me — the bloody murtherin' villain — drags the 
baby out of me arms, ups wid a winder an' heaves him out into 
the road! I springs to the door, an' he hits me on the head 
with his club and rushes out 



RECITATIONS. 91 

"I lay there on the floor till me sinses comes back to me 
an' then I thinks me o' the baby, I goes as fast as I can crawl, 
with the blood stramin' from me head, out into the street, an' 
there, in the middle of the road lay me baby stark dead! the 
breath had gone out of his little body intirly! his head hit on a 
sharp stone, an' that was what kilt him. 

"1 kneeled me down in the bloody road an' took me baby 
to meheart an' prayed to God to sthrike me dead; but he didn't, 
mum," she added, dryly, wiping her eyes. " An' it's glad I am 
now that he didn't, for poor Mike's sake and the childers'. 

" Well, mum, whin Mike come to hisself in the mornin' he 
was jist wild wid grief. It was all Father Riley an' I could do 
to hold him from b'atin' his own brains out. 

"An' would ye belave it now? whin I, that murdered baby's 
mother, saw his heart a-breakin' in him, an' heard him groanin' 
and cryin', I forget everything in the whole world — an' jist re- 
membered poor old Mike, an' I loved him jist the same — the 
bloody, murtherin' villain! 

"But, mum, it was I that timpted him in the fust place — 
don't yeforgit that! 

" Well, Father Riley hushed it up an' made it look right 
to the neighbors — it's little they knew, anyway — an' now he's 
helpin' us to begin all over ag'in — Goddlemighty forever bless 
him! 

" We try not to remember how the baby went — Mike an' I 
do — but jist to think as he's gone to Paradise. But oh, mum! 
I can tell it to yerself how these arms ache far him sometimes — 
how in the dark night when Mike's asleep I puts out me hand 
to draw the baby to me an' he is gone from me! Oh, I can tell 
it to the likes o' ye! for its yerself 's a mother, and knows. 

tl But whist, darlin', don't cry no more; for Mike's sake 
we'll try to forgit an' lave the baby with God an* the Blissid 
Virgin. " — Continent. 



92 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 



THE HORSE IN WAR. 

BY HUDSON TUTTLE. 

In that sublime poem which has come down from a remote 
age it is said: 

"Hast thou given the horse strength? Hast thou clothed 
his neck with thunder?'' 

"Canst thou make him affraid as a grasshopper? The 
glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley and 
rejoiceth in his strength. He goeth onto meet the armed men. 
He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted, neither turneth he 
back from the sword. The quiver rattleth against him, the 
glittering spear and the shield. He swalloweth the ground 
with fierceness and rage; neither believeth he it is the sound of 
the trumpet. He saith among the trumpeters, 'ha! ha!' and he 
smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains and the 
shouting." 

The horse has from the earliest ages been the companion 
and helper of man, and a potent factor in civilization. The 
barbarian horsemen made such an impression on the cities 
they beleagured, that the fear they created has been preserved in 
the fabled centaurs, half horse, half man, whose pastime was car- 
nage. Great battles, on which the fate of nations, races and 
civilization itself depended, have been decided by the bravery 
of the horse, which bore its rider unflinchingly against serried 
ranks of bayonets, or to the smoking throats of the cannon. The 
rider is crowned with the wreath of a hero, amidst the ap- 
plause of grateful millions, while the horse perishes in dust 
and leaves no name. 

I had a horse, a beautiful fellow, black as a raven, with 
mane like a banner. He was of a fiery race that scorned the 
roughness of harness, and was at home only under the saddle. 
Because of his disposition I named him Storm. I allowed no 
one to drive him, and he received his feed from my own hands. 

The civil war came, and I was forced to part with him. I 
enlisted, and I thought I would find a good place for him with 
a city friend. He would be well cared for, yet when he was 



RECITATIONS. 93 

driven away I felt as though I had committed a great crime. 
He never appeared as beautiful to me, nor stepped with such 
proud elegance, and when, after going a little way, he turned 
his head to look at me with a toss of the mane, I confess my 
eyes moistened; a swelling came in my throat, and when I 
looked at the money I had received, I thought of Judas who 
had betrayed his trust, for had I not consigned my trusting 
horse to an unknown fate? For him I knew there would be no 
more gambols over the green pasture where he lorded over the 
colts, and led in the improvised races down the long lane 
to the stable. He went to a new world and continuous con- 
finement. 

Time passed, and the memory of him dimmed as it merci- 
fully does even of our dearest friends whom we leave or con- 
sign to the silent house of the dead with unutterable grief. 
Time assuages our sorrow and heals the lacerated heart. I had 
been too busy to think of the past. Long marches, desperate 
struggles, waste, destruction and death everywhere, filled my 
mind with other thoughts. One night after a forced march — ■ 
and every day we had marched to our utmost endurance — we 
sat around the camp fires in the Shenandoah. We were tent- 
less, and the drizzling rain dripped from us in our forlorn mis- 
ery. On the other side was a stranger face, which I presently 
recognized as the man to whom I had sold my horse. After a 
while I asked him: 

" What became of that horse I sold you?" 

"That horse!" and his eyes brightened, "you rightly 
named, for he was like a storm they have out west, quite un- 
manageable. He was kind as a kitten and had more good sense 
than his groom; but in harness his nature changed, and I con- 
cluded that he would be a better horse for war than peace, and 
let him go into the army." 

"And that was the last of him!" I exclaimed, visions of 
the torn and mangled horses I had so often seen on the battle 
field arising before me. 

" Oh! no, he had a career, a splendid career. He came 
into the possession of our general, Little Phil, who knows a 
horse as well as how to ride one to victory. That was the 
horse that gave the day to our beaten soldiers at Winchester." 

" I was in the hospital when that battle was fought," I re- 
plied, " but you were there?" 



94 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

" There? Yes, and with odds against us, and under con- 
fused commands we were beaten; aye, whipped like curs, and 
our retreat became a rout. Sheridan unfortunately was not 
there. 'Oh! for Sheridan,' the cry went up. Sheridan would 
have given us this day! Some were angry and clutched their 
rifles till their knuckles were white; others, strong men, wept 
like children in their chagrin and shame, but all were drifted 
back, as by a strong tide. Oh! for the great captain. What 
a blunder that no one had gone for him! 

''The general had heard of the struggle, and mounted 
the horse which he knew had the grit and bottom to carry him 
to the front. There was no need of whip or spur; a word and 
a loosened rein and the fleet hoofs spurned the ground they 
beat with measured rhythm that put the miles behind them. 

"We saw a cloud of dust, out of which appeared the 
horse, white with foam; his neck outstretched, his red nostrils 
distended, never having paused on the long race against time 
and death. With a proudly arched neck he broke into a trot 
as he came up to the straggling ranks, and when we saw our 
general, we broke into a shout, which sent fear into the hearts 
of the exultant foe, and turning, our wild flight became a 
charge which snatched victory from the hands of defeat." 

As he finished the story, we heard the tramp of a horse, 
and saw our great commander riding the horse that had given 
the day to us. As he passed I called out, "Storm, Storm!" 
Tne horse turned to look at me. He knew his name but had 
forgotten me. Well, I deserved to be forgotten. 

What became of him? A staff officer was sent out to re- 
connoitre, at the begining of one of the last battles in the valley. 
Sheridan said: " Take my black, for you want a horse that will 
bring you through if hard pressed. A shell exploded mangling 
horse and rider. After the battle we found them with other 
bleeding soldiers and horses beside them. The soldiers have 
monuments. Should there not be one erected to the memory 
of the gallant horses that gave their lives as bravely for the 
preservation of the Union? 



RECITATIONS. 95 



WHO WAS TO BLAME? THE HIGHWAY COW? 

BY EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 

" It is too bad; everything must eat," said Carl, as he saw 
that Higgins' cow had gone into Pat Dolan's garden, through 
the open gate, and had actually got a cabbage leaf in her mouth. 

The entire Dolan family came out, like a swarm of mad 
hornets, to drive her out, and teach her not to come again. Pat 
had the pickaxe, his wife the mop, Dennis the hoe, Maggie a 
club, Jimmy an old shotgun loaded with salt, and Clancy a 
tea-kettle of hot water. Pat led the charge. "Now, come on! 
ivery one of yez! Surround the baste! " They all yelled, and 
started on a run. They closed up on the hungry cow, but she 
was agile and knocked over Jimmy, causing the shotgun to un- 
load itself into Pat's legs, and a trifle higher, whereupon he ut- 
tered such a scream, as he fell on his face, that Clancy fell over 
with the tea-kettle, letting a stream of hot water upon the up- 
turned calves of his legs. "Murther! murther! Are ye all ta- 
kin' mefortheould cow?" shouted Pat, "thatyer murtherin' me 
here in me own cabbage patch ? Be gorry ! It's a pity we didn't 
let yer mither drive her out, quiet loike, and shut the gate. I 
think I'm kilt intirely." The family got him into the house 
and put in the rest of the day picking out bunches of rock salt, 
and scraping raw potato to bind on the two parboiled calves. 

The old cow went on up street to make a call at Deacon 
Gray's place. Here is a word picture of her and the feelings 
she called out as she went the rounds to try to feed her starving 
old body. It was three decades ago that she walked the earth, 
when almost every neighborhood had its highway cows to swear 
about. 

The hue of her hide was dusky brown, 

Her body was lean and her neck was slim, 

One horn turned up and the other turned down, 
She was keen of vision and sound of limb; 

With a Roman nose and a short stump tail, 

And ribs like the hoops on a home-made pail. 



g6 angell prize-contest 

Many a mark did her body bear; 

She had been a target for all things known; 
On many a scar the dusky hair 

Would grow no more where it once had grown; 
Many a passionate, parting shot 
Had left upon her a lasting spot. 

Many and many a well-aimed stone, 

Many a brickbat of goodly size, 
And many a cudgel swiftly thrown, 

Had brought the tears to her lovely eyes; 
Or had bounded off from her bony back 
With a noise like the sound of a rifle-crack. 

Many a day had she passed in the pound 
For helping herself to her neighbor's corn; 

Many a cowardly cur and hound 

Had been transfixed on her crumbling horn; 

Many a teapot and old tin pail 

Had the farmer boys tied to her time-worn tail. 

Old Deacon Gray was a pious man, 

Though sometimes tempted to be profane, 

While many a weary mile he ran 

To drive her out of the growing grain. 

Sharp were the tricks she used to play 

To get her fill and get away. 

She knew when the Deacon went to town; 

She wisely watched him when he went by; 
He never passed her without a frown 

And an evil gleam in each angry eye; 
He would crack his whip in a surly way, 
And drive along in his " one-hoss shay." 

Then at his homestead she loved to call, 
Lifting his bars with crumpled horn; 

Nimbly scaling his garden wall, 

Helping herself to the standing corn; 

Eating his cabbages one by one, 

Hurrying home when her work was done. 



RECITATIONS. 97 

His human passions were quick to rise, 

And starting forth with a savage cry, 
With fury blazing from both his eyes, 

As lightning flash in a summer sky, 
Redder and redder his face would grow, 
And after the creature he would go. 

Over the garden, round and round, 

Breaking his pear and apple trees; 
Tramping his melons into the ground, 

Overturning his hives of bees; 
Leaving him angry and badly stung, 
Wishing the old cow's neck was wrung. 

This cow that brought such disaster on the head of the 
Dolan family belonged to the band of highway cows which used 
to be so distressingly numerous a few years ago. They were 
kept on very scant rations all winter and turned into the road 
as soon as there was a flush of green on the cold ground. They 
never knew what it was to feel well fed, and still were depended 
on to do a great part in feeding the family, to say nothing about 
making a surplus of butter to sell for groceries. So many peo- 
ple forget that the milk yield depends on the food furnished to 
produce it. People used to talk as if a cow ought to make 
eight pounds of butter a week on a diet of rainwater. If she 
did not it was contrariety on her part. The highway cows kept 
an eye out for poor fences and sprung gates; they had to, or 
starve. I must confess I was always glad when they did find a 
chance to steal, for it was not stealing to them; it was only 
finding a bite or two unexpectedly. 

I am glad the day of highway cows is past, but I have 
known things which pained me more than that Pat Dolan got 
the charge of rock salt which he fixed for a starving cow. 



THREE LITTLE NEST-BIRDS. 

We meant to be very kind; 
But if ever we find 
Another soft, gray-green, moss-coated, feather-lined nest in a 
hedge, 



98 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

We have taken a pledge- 
Susan, Jimmy, and I — with remorseful tears, at this very minute, 
That if there are eggs or little birds in it, 
Robin or wren, thrush, chaffinch or linnet, 
We'll leave them there 
To their mother's care. 

There were three of us, — Kate, Susan and Jim, — 

And three of them; 
I don't know their names, for they couldn't speak, 
Except a little bit of a squeak 

Exactly like Poll, 

Susan's squeaking doll. 
But squeaking dolls will lie on the shelves 
For years, and never squeak of themselves: 
The reason we like little birds so much better than toys, 
Is because they are really alive, and know how to make a noise. 

There were three of us and three of them; 
Kate. — that is I, — Susan, and Jim. 

Our mother was busy making a pie, 
And theirs, we think, was up in the sky, 
But for all Susan, Jimmy or I can tell, 
She may have been getting their dinner as well. 
They were left to themselves (and so were we) 
In a nest in the hedge by the willow-tree, 
And when we caught sight of three red little fluff-tufted, hazel- 
eyed, open-mouthed, pink-throated heads, we all 
shouted for glee. 
The way we really did wrong was this: 
We took them in for mother to kiss, 
And she told us to put them back; 
While on the weeping-willow their mother was crying "Alack!" 

We really heard 
Both what mother told us to do and the voice of the mother 
bird. 

But we three, — that is, Susan and I and Jim, — 
Thought we knew better than either of them; 
And in spite of out mother's command and the poor bird's 
cry, 



RECITA TIONS, 99 

We determined to bring up tne three little nestlings ourselves, 
on the sly. 
We each took one. 
It did seem such excellent fun! 
Susan fed hers on milk and bread; 
Jim got wriggling worms for his instead. 
I gave mine meat, 
For, you know, I thought, "Poor darling pet! why shouldn't it 
have roast beef to eat? " 
But, oh dear! oh dear! oh dear! How we cried, 
When in spite of milk and bread and worms and roast beef, the 
little birds died! 

It's a terrible thing to have heartache. 

I thought mine would break 

As I heard the mother-bird's moan, 
And looked at the gray-green, moss-coated, feather-lined nest 

she had taken such pains to make. 
And her three little children dead and cold as a stone. 

Mother said, and it's sadly true, 
" There are some wrong things one can never undo." 

And nothing we could do or say 

Would bring life back to the birds that day. 

The bitterest tears that we could weep 
Wouldn't wake them out of their stiff, cold sleep. 
But then 
We — Susan and Jim and I — mean never to be so selfish and 
willful and cruel again. 
And we three have buried that other three 
In a soft, green, moss-covered, flower-lined grave at the foot of 
the willow-tree. 
And all the leaves which its branches shed 
We think are tears, because they are dead. 



ioo ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 



IN THE BUSHEL, OR IN THE JUG. 

[As adapted for and spoken by Geo. Hassenfluh, German, by 
permission of W. Jennings Demorest] 

Farmer Boggs planted a new kind of seed corn last spring, 
imported from a far-distant land, and gathered two thousand 
bushels from twenty acres. He took a wagon-load to the county 
town to exchange for some — some — necessaries of life; what 
you Americans call "grub." 

He had just entered the main business street — the road you 
know — when a saloon keeper called out: 

"Hello there, Dutchman! How much do you want for 
that corn?" 

"Forty cents a bushel," said Boggs; "dis is good corn! 
such corn as never vas." 

"Whee-ew! ' Come off your perch, birdie.' I can get 
plenty of corn for thirty cents a bushel," said the saloon-keeper. 

"Aye, aye, to be sure! but no such corn as dis. Dis is a 
new kind, grown from imported seed! Not'ing like it in de 
State!" 

"All right," said the saloon-keeper, " I'll take it. As I 
have the best family horse in the country, he shall have the very 
best corn in the market. So you may drive around to my barn, 
throw the corn in my crib, and while there, please tell John, 
my hired man, to give old Faithful a good feed, and have him 
hitched up by two o'clock, for I want to take my wife and chil- 
dren out riding this afternoon." 

Boggs unloaded the corn, got his pay for it all right, made 
a few purchases for the family, as his taste thought necessary. 
He got two crocks to make saurkraut in, two yards of bologna 
sausage, smoked brown as a ham; a pound and a half of Lim- 
burg cheese, strong as a mule, too; a loaf of rye bread; a pound 
of caraway seed, and a pair of red mittens. Then he started 
home. 

He felt so smart! You Americans would say he had the 
big head — he was $o proud of his purchases and that new kind 
of corn. He did not know how much mischief was wrapped up 



RE CITA TIONS. ioi 

in those innocent-looking kernels of corn. Now, you folks, 
just hold your breath while a Dutchman (I was born in Germany, 
if I have nearly lost my brogue) tells you how that little corn- 
devil acted. If he did not have horns on his head, split feet, 
and a pitchfork on the end of his tail, why he ought to have had! 
Now that is so! 

John, promptly at two o'clock, hitched old Faithful to the 
buggy. But as the saloon-keeper, his wife, and three little 
daughters — one so high, another so high, and Gretchen, the 
smartest of the lot, so high — were getting into the buggy his 
eyes began to flash. They looked like balls of fire! He reared 
up on his hind feet! He snorted like a locomotive! It was all 
John could do to hold him. At last when all were fairly seated 
the saloon-keeper said: "Now, John, let the old fool go! I 
guess we can ride as fast as he can run!" Old Faithful tore 
down the street like a circus horse, until, suddenly turning a 
corner, over went the buggy, smashed into splinters, and the 
riders thrown sprawling on the street; all the three little girls 
— and the old man and the old woman! Oh! it was just awful! 

While the bruised and battered family was being picked 
up and cared for, a crowd of men caught old Faithful. A 
horse doctor was sent for, and as he took hold of the bit old 
Faithful's breath struck him full in the face. "Holy Moses!" 
he exclaimed, " there is nothing the matter with this horse only 
he is drunk! — drunk on that new kind of corn!'' 

The next day the farmer, ignorant of what had happened, 
took another load to town and stopped at the saloon. But the 
proprietor was not in. He then drove around to his house, 
rang the bell and the saloon-keeper answered it. He hobbled 
to the door with a patch over one eye, his arm in a sling, and 
his nose mashed. Boggs asked, making a low bow, " Do you 
vant to buy anodder load of dot corn?" 

Raising a crutch, he shouted: "Corn! corn! Do I look 
as if I needed any more of that kind of corn? Look at my 
wife there, with her arm broken! See my darling little angels, 
bruised so their own grandmother wouldn't know them! See 
my three hundred dollar buggy, smashed into everlasting smith- 
ereens! See old Faithful looking so ashamed he can't look us 
in the face! and then — dare to ask me if I want any more corn! 
Get out of here, you villain! — you old clodhopper, or I'll set 
my big dog on you!" 



102 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

Boggs bad two thousand bushels of that kind of corn and 
had depended on it to lift the mortgage off from his farm; but 
now it seemed all was lost. 

He went to a lawyer and told him his story. The lawyer 
told him all he had to do was to get out a license. A petition 
was at once prepared and the farmer started out at once to get 
signers. He went first to the saloon-keepers, supposing they 
would sign it without a word; but he was mistaken. Instead of 
signing his petition they declared that any man who would sell 
intoxicating corn to be fed to dumb animals was worse than a 
heathen, and ought to be picked to death by young ducks. 

Even the deacon refused to sign, declaring he could not 
endure it to see a colt humiliate and disgrace its mother by 
reeling through the public streets, or hear a cow bawl at the 
sight of her besotted calf; while a minister, with a look of in- 
dignation which was indescribable, said in thunder tones, if 
his party ever licensed the sale of that kind of corn he would 
never vote that ticket again! Then he quoted Scripture about 
no drunkard entering the kingdom of God. He asked Boggs 
in trembling tones what would become of all the poor dumb 
animals if we license the sale of intoxicating corn. Thinking 
of it he wept! — wept until his white handkerchief was wet with 
briny tears. Excuse me, my friends, mine is getting very wet 
too. 

Poor Boggs, discouraged, returned to the office, dropped 
the petition on the table, sank into a chair and exclaimed: 

" Personal liberty is a myth! I am ashamed of the God- 
dess of Liberty! France made her entirely too large! I feel 
so mean I shall take my meals under the bed for the next two 
weeks. Pm beat! " 

The lawyer laughed. " Beat! M said he; " beat! not if this 
court understands itself. Ha! ha! ha! — beat! — ha! ha! ha! — 
not a bit of it, old boy! Sit down while I put on my best 
thinking cap." 

In a moment his face beamed with joy. He slapped Boggs 
good naturedly on the back, saying: " Brighten up! I've got' 
an idea, a capital idea, too; one that lets you out sleek and 
clean, saves your farm, and above all gives you personal liberty. 
This is the plan: You proceed at once to draw that corn to the 
distillery, get it made into whisky and then get a license to sell 



RECITATIONS. 103 

the whisky. You see it all depends on whether the corn is sold 
in the bushel basket or demijohn." 

Shame on such laws! If men must make such bungling 
work, let the women vote. Let them join hands and help pick 
out the knots. Not one of them who would not cry hurrah 
for the golden corn in the basket! But prohibition forever to 
corn juice in the form of whisky, at the bar or in the jug! 



OVERLOADED— WHY THE QUAKER BOUGHT A 

HORSE. 

BY EUCENE SUE. 

The winter of 1732 was very cold. The pavements be- 
came very slippery by the frost, and did not present any hold 
for the horses' feet; and one of these animals, harnessed to a 
large cart heavily laden with wood, was utterly unable to ad- 
vance a step forward, while the carter, a powerful fellow, was 
belaboring the poor brute with his heavy whip, striking him 
over the head with relentless ferocity. Breathless, and strug- 
gling violently, the poor horse was so exhausted by his con- 
tinued and severe efforts, that, in spite of the cold, he was 
covered with sweat and foam. Now, throwing himself into his 
collar, with desperate exertion, he tugged so that the stones 
beneath his feet threw out sparks of fire; now, far from being 
discouraged, he backed a few paces to take breath, and again 
tried, but in vain, to draw his load. Twice did he nearly fall, 
his knees touched the pavement; the carter raised him by the 
bit, leaving the mouth of the animal raw and bleeding. A 
third time, after a violent effort, he fell on his knees, one leg 
entangled beneath him; he could not recover himself, but fell 
on his side, where he lay trembling, bathed in sweat, and his 
eyes fixed on his brutal owner. The rage of his master then 
knew no bounds; and after breaking his whip over the head of 
the horse, who, kept down by the shafts, lay groaning on the 
stones, he began kicking the unfortunate animal on the nos- 
trils. The spectators of this cruel sight looked on with 
apathy. The fellow, finding the horse did not move, took a 
bundle of straw, twisted it in the form of a torch, and, taking a 



io 4 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

match from his pocket, said, " I'll roast him; p'r'aps that '11 
make him get up." At this moment a Quaker stopped, and 
pushed his way among the crowd. When he saw the carter 
go toward the fallen horse, with the intention of applying the 
blazing straw to his body, a shudder ran through his frame, 
and his countenance expressed the utmost compassion. Un- 
able for a moment to endure this scene, the Quaker ap- 
proached the carter and took him by the arm, who turned with 
a menacing look, as he shook the torch. "Friend," said the 
Quaker in a calm tone, showing the carter fifteen louis d' or, 
which he held in his hand, "wilt thou sell me thy horse for 
this gold?" "What do ye say?" inquired the carter; "will ye 
give me that sum for the brute?" and treading out the light be- 
neath his feet. " Fifteen louis," said the Quaker. " But why 
should ye buy the horse?" " That is nothing to thee. If thou 
sellest thy horse, thou must unload thy cart, unharnessthe horse 
and assist him to rise." " Is the gold good?" " Take it to 
the nearest shop and inquire." The carter soon returned, say- 
ing, " It is a bargain." " Then unshackle the poor horse, for 
he is crushed by the weight of his burden." The bystanders 
lent their aid to free the horse. The poor animal was bleed- 
ing in many places; and such was his terror of the carter, that 
he trembled at his approach. "But I cannot tell why you 
bought the old brute," said the carter. "I can tell thee; it was 
to free him from thy cruelty that I bought him," replied the 
Quaker. 

A hundred and sixty years passed by and still abuses went 
on. In Chicago a pair of mud-bespattered and tired horses 
struggled along near Douglas school yesterday. The driver, 
a burly Irishman, occasionally swung a blacksnake whip in 
the air and brought it down on the steaming flanks of the 
horses. The wagon was heaped with a load of hard coal; the 
street was rough and muddy. Just opposite the school-house 
the man swung into a mud-hole. The wheels sank in the 
yielding earth and the blacksnake hissed through the air, the 
horses plunged wildly, and the pole pounded each horse 
alternately, but never an inch did the wagon move. The driver 
sawed the lines until the blood trickled from the mouth of the 
horses. Still the wheels remained buried in the mud. The 
driver climbed down from his perch. He inspected the wheels 
with a critical eye. Evidently satisfied that the fault lay with 



RECITATIONS. 105 

the team, he resumed the argument of the blacksnake. A 
well-dressed man stopped on the sidewalk. 

" You ought to be arrested for abusing those horses," he 
at last remarked. " I'm a member of the Humane Society, 
and if you don't stop beating those horses, I'll have you ar- 
rested." 

"O yez are, areyez? Oi'll give yez a taste o' whip yer- 
silf in a minit, if ye don't leave." 

Crack! crack! went the whip again. A peal of childish 
laughter came out of the school building, and a minute later a 
throng of younger pupils appeared, bound for home. The 
little ones paused at the sight of the struggling horses; and the 
swinging whip paused just a moment. Then out sprang a 
bright-eyed little girl right into the mud in the street. 

" Ain't you 'shamed, you big, bad man?" she cried, while 
the wind tossed the light brown locks abont her flushing face, 
and the little hands were clinched. "You must stop." 

The teamster stopped in amazement. The big whip trailed 
in the mud. 

"Wall, wall, wall," he gasped; "who be ye, little 'un? 
Wan uv the Humane S'i'ty?" He tried to laugh. 

"Yes, I am; here's my star. Now, please don't hit them 
anymore," said the little beauty, casting a pleading glance in 
imitation of the arts of more mature womanhood. It was all 
done in a moment. The man on the street had not even started 
for a policeman. 

" Oi don't know what the divil oi kin do," desperately 
answered the burly teamster, suddenly becoming very passive. 
He sat down on the curbstone. Just then an empty coal-wagon 
came rattling down the street. "Say, will ye give me a pull?" 
yelled the teamster, springing to his feet. 

"Of course," said the other driver. He unhitched his 
team and hooked on to the pole of the mud-clogged coal wagon. 
The team had rested. Two teams pulled together, and, amid 
the juvenile applause, the heavily laden wagon was landed high 
and dry on the pavement of the cross-street. 

" She's a'most loike little Peppy what's gone," said the 
driver to himself, as he glanced back from his seat at the re- 
treating form of the victorious little girl. Two little white 
streams coursed through the coal dust on his cheeks. 



106 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

THE SPORTSMAN. 

BY EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 

A gentleman with dog and gun 
And hunting-jacket trim; 

A robin with a song unsung, — 
The sportsman shot at him. 

A hit bird on the damp grass lies, 
His feathers flecked with gore; 

The lids close o'er his diamond eyes, 
To open never more. 

His life flows out like tiny brook 
Which leaves its bosom dry; 

O, it is mournful e'en to look 
And see a robin die! 

Methinks I read the thoughts that float 

Within the dizzy brain; 
His mate pipes wildly on the ash, 

He flutters, — rent with pain. 

" Oh, for a drop to quench my thirst, 
To loose my weary tongue; 

My loving mate, — her heart will burst 
In moanings to her young. 

" Ah! when her ear no longer hears 

My carol to the morn, 
Allaying all her anxious fears, 

The woods will be forlorn. 

" No longer singing in the spray, 

Or to our callow brood, 
No longer bringing through the day 

Our little ones their food. 



RECITATIONS. 107 

' Here must I lie upon the ground, 

A loathsome bit of clay; 
O, cruel hand which gave the wound 
That steals my life away." 

The gay young sport who took his life 

Strode on with lofty tread; 
The brown wings fluttered once in strife— 

The little bird was dead. 



HEROIC ANIMALS. 



There are noble animals which seem to live to do good. 
There are ignoble men and women whose lives are blots of sin 
and cruelty. You think not? You think animals unworthy to 
be classed with human beings? Let me tell you about John 
Ror.g and his dog, and then tell me which is most worthy of 
respect? 

John Rong was vicious from his birth, 

As mean a man as lived on earth; 

His dog, whose days were sad and grim, 

Led a poor life following him. 

John Rong chose ugliness and strife, 
And often he abused his wife; 
The dog was kind, the wife would tell 
He served her faithfully and well. 

John Rong his children's patience tried, 
They feared, they suffered, and they died. 
The dog, who could not take their part, 
Gave the poor kindness of his heart. 

John Rong in every vice was seen, 

And stained his life with all things mean. 

The dog no wicked thing did do; 

His thought was honest, kind and true. 

John Rong walked out when so inclined, 
Concocting mischief in his mind. 
The dog, his master's will to do, 
With fear and trembling followed too. 



106 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

John Rong, when full of crazy grog, 
with club and stones attacked the dog. 
The dog — poor creature — yelped and cried, 
And bleeding, broken, crushed, he died. 

When John Rong shall God's justice see, 
Then tell me — where shall John Rong be? 
Tell me what comes from Heaven above 
To him who murders perfect love? 

Thou dog, dear dog, teach us that part, 
To be, like thee, a faithful heart, 
Alike to love and sorrow true; 
Tell me, what more can angels do? 

And one of these lives after death? 
And one shall perish with his breath? 
Which lives beyond the earthly clog, 
The fiendish man or angel dog. 

Another instance of true heroism in a dog is pathetically 
told by Rev. F. M. Todd, of Manassas, Virginia. The noble 
collie was a martyr and should go on the list of those who died 
to save others. 

It was not an hour after dawn, yet the great waiting-room 
of the Central Station was full. 

The soft morning air blew freshly through the long line of 
cars and puffing engines. A faint hum comes from without. 
It was the great city awakening for the day. A Scotch collie, 
belonging to one of the emigrant groups, went from one to an- 
other wagging his tail and looking up with mild and expressive 
eyes full of good-natured friendly feeling. Children called to 
him, some students romped with him, the ladies patted his 
head, a poor negro in the corner shared his meal with him, 
and thus he seemed to unite all these different groups in a com- 
mon tie of good feeling. While all this was going on, a wo- 
man was washing the windows of some empty cars drawn on to 
the siding, singing as she rubbed the glass. While her back 
was turned, her child, a little fellow about three years old, ran 
to the door of the car and jumped down on the next track. 
Upon this track the Eastern Express was coming. Directly in 
its path was the babe; a hush of horror fell upon the crowd. 



RECITATIONS. 109 

Every eye turned in the direction, and then a low sob of anguish 
went up from the paralyzed people. The dog, with head erect, 
and fixed eye, saw the danger, and with a bound and a fierce 
bark darted towards the child. The baby, frightened, started 
back. The mother went on washing windows and singing, as 
the huge engine rushed up abreast of her car. There was a 
crunching noise and a faint little cry of agony. Even strong 
men grew sick at the sound and turned away. 

When they looked again, the baby was toddling across 
the platform, crowing and laughing, and the crushed dead body 
of a dog lay on the track. " Passengers for Pittsburgh, Chi- 
cago and the West. Passengers for Baltimore, Richmond and 
the South," so the cry went on, and the surging crowd passed 
out, never to all meet again in this world. But the faces of 
men and women were pale, and there were tears in the eyes of 
some. The poor negro and the millionaire, tottering old men 
and frolicking boys had been helped onward, upward, by the 
friendly, cheerful life and heroic death of a dumb dog. 

Dare we assert that when the limp body, sacrificed to save 
the life of another, lay on the track, the heroic spirit that once 
animated it was quenched into utter nothingness? 



THE BAND OP MERCY AS AN EDUCATIONAL 
FORCE AGAINST CRIME. 

BY GEO. T. ANGELL. 

We know that simply teaching kindness in our Bands of 
Mercy — to be more merciful to the aged, weak, and suffering; 
to feed the song-birds, and spare their nests; sprinkle ashes on 
icy streets, that men and horses may not fall; put the blankets 
that have blown off horses on again, and tuck them under the 
harness: kill fish as soon as they are caught, as Agassiz taught 
his pupils; protect the useful toad; avoid treading upon the 
useful and harmless worm, even — will have a mighty influence 
to prevent many from becoming criminals, and make them 
good, merciful and law-abiding citizens. I could easily fill an 
hour with anecdotes illustrating the power of teaching kind- 
ness to the lower creatures; and for illustrations of the power 



no ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

of teaching kindness to the higher we have only to look at the 
history of the Quakers and Moravians. 

Indeed, if all the world were Quakers and Moravians, what 
would become of the prisons, and what would become of 
armies, navies and fortifications? The Quaker colony of Penn- 
sylvania required for seventy years, for its protection against 
Indians, only a few constables. That was the fruit of humane 
education. 

Is it not possible to educate our children just as humanely, 
without making them Quakers or Moravians? I have heard 
the question asked, "Will not this humane education unfit our 
boys for soldiers?" I answer, that a boy who has been trained 
to protect a dumb beast from cruelty will fight, if need be, none 
the less bravely for his home and country. There were no 
braver men in our last war, North or South, than those that 
went from our most cultured homes. There have been no 
braver men or women in any age than those sons and daugh- 
ters of mercy who, since that war, went down into the yellow- 
fever hospitals of the South, to nurse the sick, and comfort and 
cheer the dying. 

But suppose a band should teach only one thing — kind- 
ness to the lower creatures, those that cannot speak for them- 
selves. Saying nothing of the increased protection to animals, 
when you are teaching children to love and do acts of kindness 
for these creatures which the poorest boys and girls are meet- 
ing forty times a day in the streets, and having opportunities 
of doing little acts of kindness to, you are teaching what will 
bring a whole world of new happiness into the whole future 
lives of the children. 

I shall never forget seeing on the Capitol grounds at Rich- 
mond, Va., tame gray squirrels running over the grounds, and 
feeding from the hands of the children; and I told the people 
whom I addressed there, truly, as I believe, that those squir- 
rels were worth their weight in gold to the city of Richmond, 
for the kindness they put into the hearts of the children. I 
have in my own home a little bird that weighs less than one 
ounce after dinner; yet he brings into my home a happiness 
that for thousands of dollars I would not lose. He follows 
me from room to room; flies to my head, my shoulders, my 
fingers; stands on my table, and watches me as I write. In 
the morning he sings his little songs of thanksgiving; about 



RECITATIONS. in 

sundown, his evening hymn; and later, at intervals, I hear soft, 
sweet notes, which I love to think may be his little prayers to 
his Maker and mine. It is only one little bird, weighing less 
than an ounce, yet I know that he makes my life both happier 
and better. 

And I could easily fill an hour with the testimony of men 
and women of almost every position in life — from the poor, 
sick colored man at Louisville, Ky., who, when told that to 
enter the city hospital he must abandon his dog, declared with 
tears in his eyes that the dog was the only friend he had in the 
world, and he would rather die with him in the streets of 
Louisville than abandon him — up to Sir Walter Scott, and Sir 
Edwin Landseer; and Petrarch, and Cardinal Wolsey and 
Richelieu; and Daniel Webster, who, just before he died, asked 
that all his cattle might be driven to his window, that he might 
see them for the last time; and a thousand more like these, 
who might be cited to show how millions of lives have been, 
and other millions may be, made happier by a love for God's 
lower creatures. 

And then comes the influence of this teaching on crime. I 
am sometimes asked, " Why do you spend so much of your 
time and money in talking about kindness to animals, when 
there is so much cruelty to men?" And I answer: "We are 
working at the roots. Every humane publication, every 
lecture, every step in doing or teaching kindness to them, is a 
step to prevent crime, " — a step in promoting the growth of those 
qualities of heart which will elevate human souls, even in the 
dens of sin and shame, and prepare the way for the coming of 
peace on earth and good-will to men. There are hundreds of 
thousands of parents among the depraved and criminal classes 
of this country whom no child can " be taught to love," or 
ought to be. There are hundreds of thousands of homes where 
the name of the Almighty is never heard except in words of 
blasphemy. But there is not a ehild in one of those homes 
that may not be taught in our public schools to feed the birds, 
and pat the horses, and enjoy making happy all harmless 
creatures it meets on the street, and so be doing acts of kind- 
ness forty times a day, which will make it not only happier, but 
better and more merciful in all the relations of life. 

Standing before you as the advocate of the lower races, I 
declare, what I believe cannot be gainsaid — that just so soon 



ii2 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

and so far as we pour into all our schools the songs and poems 
and literature of mercy towards these lower creatures, just so 
soon and so far shall we reach the roots not only of cruelty, 
but of crime. 

A short time since, I was written to by order of an associa- 
tion of the leading citizens of one of our largest Western cities; 
and the question was asked, "What can we do to stop the 
growth of crime?" I answered, "Form a Band of Mercy in 
every public school of your city as quickly as you can." So 
you will reach the children at once; and through them, and 
their cards, badges and humane literature, you will reach also 
the parents. 

My friends, have you anything better? It costs nothing. 
It opens, in every school where it is formed, a door or channel 
through which we can pour into the school our humane liter- 
ature and education. It can do no harm. It may do infinite 
good, not only in this generation, but in the great future, 
when we shall have ceased from our labors. 

No man can tell the influence that may go out from even 
the smallest band, to bless our country and to bless the world. 
Millions are expended in building monuments in our cem- 
eteries. I know of no way in which any man or woman can 
build a better monument than by founding a band or bands of 
mercy, dedicated to the glory of God and the highest welfare 
of his creatures, both human and dumb. 



DEAD BIRDS ON LADIES' HATS AND BONNETS. 

BY CLAIR TUTTLE. 

How did the custom of wearing murdered birds as orna- 
ments on ladies' headwear originate? 

I will tell you. It started by the vanity of one infamous 
woman after whom not one lady in this hall would desire to 
pattern. 

A few years ago there appeared in Paris, at a ball of the 
demi-monde, a woman wearing on her headdress a dead bird. 
The bird had artificial eyes, and its wings and tail were spread 
out so as to give it a lifelike appearance. It was a small, 
stuffed bird, not a bird's skin stretched on wires. Its intro- 



RECITATIONS. 113 

duction as an ornament in fashionable bad society was not re- 
ceived with much favor at first, although the wearer succeeded 
in attracting attention to herself by the singularity of her adorn- 
ment. This was all that she desired or intended to accomplish 
by fastening a bird's corpse to her headgear. 

Is it not strange that from such a source has spread so 
revolting a fashion? 

Christian women wear them when they go to worship the 
gentle Nazarene; Jewish ladies who disbelieve in Christ don 
them; — everywhere women assemble in dress attire the dear 
dead birds go — but they go and sing no more! Their wings, 
heads, and whole bodies in countless thousands have been sold 
for ornaments to gratify female pride and vanity. We. never 
see a lady's bonnet bordered with the carcasses or wings of the 
slaughtered songsters of the forest that it does not remind us 
of the coffin and the sepulchre. 

From carefully gathered statistics it is known that over 
5,000,000 song-birds are annually slaughtered to ornament the 
hats of American women. 

A correspondent of The Audubon Magazine (see July 
number, 1887) writes from Pinecastle, Fla., as follows: 

" Through my meanderings I watched closely for birds and 
deer. I saw but a few hundred birds, where formerly I had 
seen from 10,000 to 20,000. I met plenty of hunters with 
buggies and wagons loaded with bird plumes. The birds are 
killed at the season of the year when they are rearing their 
young. On passing the rookeries where the hunters had been 
a few days previous, the screams and calls of the starving young 
birds were pitiful to hear. Some were just fledged, while oth- 
ers were so young that they could make but little noise. But 
all must inevitably starve to death. I cannot describe the hor- 
ror it gave me to hear the pitiful screams of the dying little 
birds." 

Celia Thaxter, who is known all over our land as one of 
the noblest women and the sweetest of singers, and who now is 
a dweller in the immortal land, wrote: 

"Is it not possible to persuade women to take a decided 
stand in the matter of the slaughter of birds, and protect them 
by refusing to wear them? We are fostering a grievous wrong 
out of pure thoughtlessness. A bit of ribbon, or a bunch of 
flowers, or any of the endless variety of materials used by the 



114 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

milliner, would answer every purpose of decoration, without 
involving the sacrifice of bright and beautiful lives." 

When women know the cruelty used in obtaining such 
savage adornments, there is not one in the length and breadth 
of the land, I am happy to believe, who would be cruel enough 
to encourage this massacre of the innocents by wearing their 
rifled plumes upon her person. 

I will close by giving you the thoughts of a Christian at 
Sunday service who could only think of a spectacle of cruelty 
before him — the spectacle of 

A MURDERED BIRD. 

Just in front of my pew sits a maiden — 

A little brown wing on her hat, 
With its touches of tropical azure, 

And sheen of the sun upon that. 

Through the bloom-covered pane shines a glory 
By which the vast shadows are stirred; 

But I pine for the spirit and splendor 
That painted the wing of the bird. 

The organ rolls down its great anthem, 
With the soul of a song it is blent; 

But for me, I am sick for the singing 
Of one little song that is spent. 

The voice of the curate is gentle — 

"No sparrow shall fall to the ground " — 

But the poor broken wing on the bonnet 
Is mocking the merciful sound. 

Close and sweet is the breath of the lilies 

Asleep on the altar of prayer; 
But my soul is athirst for the fragrance 

Far out in the bountiful air. 

And I wonder if ever or never, 

With white wings o'erweary and furled, 

I shall find the sweet spirit of pity 
At rest in the heart of the world! 



RECITATIONS. 115 

Ladies, let us resolve not to adorn ourselves with the 
plumage of slaughtered birds. Young ladies, if we cannot catch 
a husband without decorating thus, let us live old maids or girl 
bachelors. 



JUST IDEAS OP GOD AND IMMORTALITY THE 
PREVENTION OP WAR. 

BY CEO. T. ANCELL. 

To teach the children in our public schools about God, 
tell them of the wonders revealed by the microscope and tele- 
scope. 

Carry their thoughts to the stars, that move in grand pro- 
cession across the evening sky, and ask who guides them in 
their great circles through space without limit and time with- 
out end; tell them of the goodness displayed in flowers that 
bloom and birds that sing. 

Show them the wonderful plan that runs through the whole 
universe, from the constellations to the animalculae, and ask who 
was the planner? 

Show them what this wonderful human intellect of ours 
has done; how it has created the world's libraries and machine 
shops, steamers that plough the ocean, astronomical instru- 
ments that measure heavenly bodies, grand cathedrals, paint- 
ings of Raphael and Michael Angelo, music of Mozart and Bee- 
thoven; and ask who made that intellect? 

How about immortality? 

Suppose you tell them that the greatest scientist we ever 
had on this continent, Agassiz, believed not only in the im- 
mortality of man, but also in some form of future life even for 
the lower intelligences; that the sacred books and religious 
beliefs and recorded spiritual experiences of nearly all nations 
and ages teach it; and that, if all these were wanting, the com- 
mon sense of mankind would teach that the Power that sustains 
the universe would not permit the holy saint, martyr, mother, 
to only share with pirates and murderers a common annihila- 
tion. 

And having taught them that there is an overruling power, 
and that instead of being a creature of a day man is endowed 



n6 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

with immortality, a sure foundation is laid on which to build a 
strong and merciful character which will rule war, strife and 
selfishness out of the hearts of men. If you ask how can we 
stop war? I answer: I believe it is within the power of the 
Christian Church to stop almost every war. When the next 
threatens, let the clergy of all denominations meet in every city 
and town, and petition Congress to settle the dispute by arbi- 
tration. 

Let every clergyman on the next Sunday preach a sermon 
on war, and then circulate in his parish a petition against it. 
Let great union prayer-meetings be held in all our cities and 
towns, to pray that the war may be averted; and let Christians 
of all nations be invited by telegrams to join in that prayer. 

Let every Christian wife and mother, when war threatens, 
wear some emblem of mourning until the danger is past. If 
these things were done, I think few politicians would care to 
rise in Congress, or anywhere, to advocate war. 

When the united voices of the Christian Church shall de- 
mand peace on earth, good-will to men, great armies will be no 
longer needed, and Christmas chimes will ring out such melo- 
dies as the world has never heard. 

In this country, I think one of our first steps should be to 
so amend our Constitution that war shall never be declared 
except by a majority vote of the whole nation; and on that 
question every wife and mother who has a husband or son lia- 
ble to military duty should be permitted to vote. 

All that is merciful, loving, gentle, Christian, is set forth in 
the Band of Mercy. Its pledge is: 

" I will try to be kind to all harmless living creatures, both 
human and dumb, and will try to protect them from cruel 
usage." It is thus both an order of mercy and an order of 
chivalry. Its object is in all possible ways to encourage its 
members to good, generous, noble, and merciful lives and 
deeds. Whenever a brave, kind word needs to be said, say it; 
whenever a brave, kind act needs to be done, do it. 

"Nations, take hands! The centuries past 

Have known too much of crime; 
Shall hate and war forever last, 

And steep in blood all time? 
Pah! Christians slaughtering Christians still — 



RECITATIONS. 117 

At length that trade should cease; 
Men can do better things than kill, 

Ranked in the wars of peace. 
Fling by the sword, O suffering lands! 
Brothers at last, in love take hands! 
Nations, take hands!" 



THE CHIEFTAIN AND HIS DOG. 

AN INDIAN LECEND. 

An Indian chief of great fame and power, growing old after 
a long life devoted to the welfare of his people, and weary of 
his cares, determined to set out on a journey which would lead 
him over the river, the broad plains and the blue mountains he 
could see rising in the distance, to the happy hunting grounds 
of his forefathers — even to the gates of Paradise. 

Leaving all his burdens in the care of those whom he could 
trust, he started, accompanied by his wife who had shared his 
fortunes for more than half a century, his son, and two faithful 
followers — his dog, to which he was greatly attached, follow- 
ing him. 

He set out with the first gray blush of the morning, and 
the day was long. The track, after he had forded the river, 
lay across parching plains, and along the steep hillsides, up, 
up to the summit of the sun-clad mountains. The blinding 
storm swept over the crags, and the snow grew deeper and 
deeper. 

After a time the courage of the two servants failed, and 
with tears they besought their master to turn homeward; but 
the chieftain turned toward the brilliant light streaming from 
the setting sun, where he thought he could already see the 
pearly gates of Paradise, and said: " Return if you will; I will 
go on." 

The men turned back, sorrowful to leave their chief, yet 
glad to have his permission; but the faithful dog lifted his wist- 
ful eyes to his master's face, nestled his head under his hand 
and refused to leave him. 

More difficult grew the way, till at length the son, too, fal- 
tered, fell back, and left his father. " When we reach the 



u8 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

summit," said the chief to his wife, " we shall see Paradise. 
Cheer up, for we are almost there! " 

Soon tramping through the blinding drifts, they came to 
the bleak crags, around which the storm-clouds dashed and the 
winds mockingly shrieked. There was the precipitous descent 
into the thick fog, above and beyond which appeared still more 
awful summits. The heart of the wife failed her. and she re- 
mained standing while he went on down the slope and was lost 
in the gathering clouds. The dog remained for a little time 
with her, whining and looking up in her face, but when she 
turned homeward he followed his master. 

Day by day, night after night, the chief and his dog went 
on together, over crag, hill and swamp, until they reached the 
side of the last snow-capped peak, and they saw the snow was 
roseate with the glow from the gates of the Heavenly City; yet 
the bitter blast which swept the heights was not less cold, and, 
the snow deepened, as with failing strength the aged chief 
climbed the precipitous side. At last he sank deeper, and, 
overpowered, fell insensible. The dog, which had kept close to 
him, sprang to his side, lay on his breast, and kept the warmth 
in his feeble heart, and the sharp cries he made, aroused him 
from the sleep creeping over him. 

Recovering his senses, the chief gained his feet, patted the 
good dog, which now with joyful gambols and cheerful barking 
led the way. 

The summit was gained, and the chief found himself stand- 
ing by the glittering door of Paradise. An angel, clad in light, 
stood by its side, who asked: "Whence comest thou, and 
what is thy desire? " 

" From the earth," replied the wayfarer, " and I come to 
enter the pearly gate." 

"Thy deeds have been wafted before thee, and the gate 
swings wide for such as thee; but what is that in the shadow 
behind thee? " 

"That is my faithful dog." 

"You do not ask that he, too, enter? Nay, do not, for it is 
impossible to grant. You may come, but he must remain with- 
out." 

The chief pleaded earnestly with the angel, begging that 
his companion be admitted, but the angel was inexorable, and 
cried: "It is forbidden — cease! — it must not be!" 



JRE CITA TIONS. 1 1 9 

''Then I will stay with him! " said the chief. "He has 
been faithful when others forsook me! In the very beginning 
of my toilsome journey my most trustful servants left me. My 
son deserted me, and even my wife, when I was most in need, 
turned from me. He saved my life in the drifts of the summit. 
He guided me after I could no longer guide myself. Where 
he goes I will go, and share his fate as he has shared mine." 

The chieftain was turning to leave the gate, firmly re- 
solved, yet with heart filled with sorrow and regret, when lo! 
the trembling dog, with upturned, wistful eyes, was transformed 
into a radiant angel whose clear eyes looked upon him with the 
mild love he had so often seen in those of that faithful crea- 
ture. Smiling, this fair vision of loveliness took his hand, and 
leading him to the now wide-swung gate, said: "I was your guar- 
dian angel. If you had not been true to me, I could not have 
guided you. As you have been good to me of the least, your 
reward shall be of the greatest. Enter in and be happy for- 
ever. " — Adapted. 



WHY PARMER JOSEPH FORGOT HIS WIFE'S 
ERRANDS. 

"Well," said Mr. Whitehall, "it's a fine day, and I guess 
I'll go and feed the old horse a first-rate breakfast, and curry 
him off clean, and grease the buggy, and dust out the blanket, 
and whip the robe, and come in and eat my griddle cakes, and 
go to town. It's so dead here I want to get out and see some- 
body. Don't you want to go along, wife? " 

" Oh! no, Joseph, but I'd like to have you do some errands 
for me. I'll write them down, and you can hand the list to a 
clerk to be filled." 

"I ain't goin' into the store like a little boy, carryin* a pa- 
per, as if I didn't know nothin'! No, ma'm! I can remember 
what you want; my head is long enough for that." 

"Well, Joseph, be sure and take along old Jim's dinner. 
You can take him right to the farmer's feed stable, where there 
is plenty of water for him, nice clean stalls with feed boxes, and 
the charge is only ten cents if you take your own grain. That 
is better than standing hitched on the street, for the flies to 
lunch on. The time seems long to the tired horses, while their 



120 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

masters go sight-seeing, chatting, and, sometimes getting into 
mischief." Mrs. W. knew Joseph had a failing. He would 
" drink to be sociable." 

" Remember, now," said Mrs. Whitehall, "what I tell 
you; I want a spool of thread No. 60, ten yards of calico with 
a dot in it, and a yard and a half of brown drilling to line the 
waist." 

Joseph drove into the city as straight as a bee line and as 
happy as an old giraffe when the circus is out. He sold butter 
and eggs, was on his way to a dry goods store when he met a 
man who once came awful near marrying his sister. This was 
reason enough why they should drink together, and they drank. 
When a man meets a fellow who might have been his brother- 
in-law if a mule hadn't kicked the prospective bride across the 
dark river, he can't tell when to stop drinking. Farmer White- 
hall couldn't remember whether he imbibed seven or seventeen 
glasses, but the result was the same. When he finally got 
ready to do his trading he entered a store and said: 

"Shir, I want shixty spools of dot wiz a waist in 'em ! " 

That was as plain as he could make it in any of the half- 
dozen stores he entered, and by and by he suddenly discovered 
that he wasn't in the right mood for trading. He found another 
saloon and more beer, and it was evening when he entered a 
jewelry store and said: 

"Shir, I want a yardan' a half of dots wiz shixty in 'em! " 

He was turned out, and late in the evening he fell down 
on the street near the monument, too tired to go further. As 
the officer raised him up he murmured: 

"Shir, I want ten yards drillin' to line 'er shpool thread 
wiz." 

He was quite sober when walked out for trial, and, more- 
over, a little anxious to know what had become of his vest but- 
tons and one coat tail. 

"Do you feel better? " tenderly inquired his honor, as he 
looked down upon the prisoner. 

"No, sir — I feel worse," was the answer. 

< ' Nice time you had rolling around in the street, last night. " 

"'Squar'," began the man, as he faced around, " this is 
the fust time I ever made a fool o' myself with both eves open! 
I've got 'leven dollars down here in my vest, and you kin take 
it all if you'll let me go. I'll bet a cucumber the o\& woman 



RECITATIONS. 121 

didn't sleep a wink last night, and she'll put one of the boys on 
a hoss and send him up the road after me this mornin'." 

" Then you plead guilty? " 

" I do. I'm guilty and an idiot to boot." 

" Do you want to dust right out for home? " 

"Do I? Why I can't hardly stand still. I want to meet 
the boy as fur out as I kin, and tell him I got upsot." 

" Can you remember what your wife told you to get? " 

" I kin. She wanted sixty yards of waist lining, a yard 
and a half of dots, and ten spools of calico, and I'll get 'em as 
I go out." 

"Well, you may go." 

"Thankee! Whar's my hat — good-by — whar's that jack- 
knife — good-by everybody. " 

But what did his wife say? 

"Well, Joseph, you are a sight on ice! Have you been 
cleaning a sewer? " 

" No, Belinda, I've been upsot; but I got your waist linin! 
Sixty yards out. Breakfast ready? " — Detroit Free Press. 



PLASH— THE FIREMAN'S STORY. 

FROM HARPER'S MAGAZINE. 

Flash was a white-foot sorrel, an run on No. 3; 
Not much stable manners — an average horse to see; 
Notional in his methods — strong in loves an' hates; 
Not very much respected, or popular 'mongst his mates; 

Dull an* moody an' sleepy on "off" an' quiet days, 
Full of turb'lent sour looks, an' small sarcastic ways; 
Scowled an' bit at his partner, and banged the stable floor — 
With other tricks intended to designate life a bore. 

But when, be't day or night time, he heard the alarm-bell 

ring, 
He'd rush for his place in the harness with a regular tiger 

springy 
An' watch with nervous shivers the clasp of buckle and band, 
Until it was plainly ev'dent he'd like to lend a hand. 



122 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

An' when the word was given, away he would rush and tear, 
As if a thousan' witches was rumplin' up his hair, 
An' wake his mate up crazy with his magnetic charm; 
For every hoof-beat sounded a regular fire alarm! 

Never a horse a jockey would worship an' admire 
Like Flash in front of his engine, a-racin' with a fire; 
Never a horse so lazy, so dawdlin' an' so slack 
As Flash upon his return trip, a-drawin' the engine back. 

Now when the different horses gets tender-footed an' old, 
They aint no use in our business; so Flash was finally sold 
To quite a respectable milkman; who found it not so fine 
A-bossin' of God's creatures outside o' their reg'lar line. 

Seems as if I could see Flash a-mopin' along here now. 
A-feelin' that he was simply assistant to a cow; 
But sometimes he'd imagine he heard the alarm-bell's din, 
An' jump an' rear for a minute before they could hold him in. 

An' once, in spite o' his master, he strolled in 'mongst us 

chaps, 
To talk with the other horses, of former fires, perhaps; 
Whereat the milkman kicked him; wherefore us boys to 

please, 
He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees. 

But one day, for a big fire as we were makin' a dash; 
Both o' the horses we had on somewhat resemblin' Flash, 
Yellin' an' ringin' an' rushin', with excellent voice an' heart, 
We passed the poor old fellow, a-tuggin' away at his cart. 

If ever I see an old horse grow upward into a new, 
If ever I see a driver whose traps behind him flew, 
'Twas that old horse, a-rompin', an' rushin' down the track, 
An' that respectable milkman, a-tryin' to hold him bace. 

Away he dashed like a cyclone for the head of No. 3, 
Gained the lead, an' kept it, an' steered his journey free 
Dodgin' the wheels an' horses, an' still on the keenest ' 'silk, ' 
An' furnishin' all that district with good respectable milk. 

Crowds a-yellm* an' runnin,' and vainly hollerin' "Whoa" 
Milkman bracin' an* sawin', with never a bit o'show; 



RECITATIONS. 123 

Firemen laughin' an' chucklid',andhollerin' "Good! go in!" 
Hoss a-gettin' down to it, an' sweepin' along like sin. 

Finally come where the fire was, halted with a "thud," 
Sent the respectable milk man heels over head in mud; 
Watched till he see the engine properly workin' there — 
After which he relinquished all interest in the affair. 

Moped an' wilted an' dawdled — faded away once more; 
Took up his old occ'pation of votin' life a bore; 
Laid down in his harness, and — sorry I am to say — - 
The milkman he had drawn there drew his dead body away. 

That's the whole o' my story; I've seen more'n once or twice, 
That poor dumb animal's actions are full of human advice; 
An' if you ask what Flash taught, I simply answer you, then, 
That poor old horse was a symbol of some intelligent men. 

■ — Will Carleton. 



AN ANIMAL CONVENTION. 

Old Dobbin had been unmercifully whipped, because he 
could not pull an overloaded wagon. He was almost killed, 
but got on his feet again and was turned out in the pasture 
to die. 

About this time it became known that Dobbin had called a 
meeting of all the animals on the farm to take some measure 
for the amelioration of their condition. This meeting was to 
be held on the next Sunday, after church, as that was the only 
day when the horses could get off. 

Now, the animals did not know exactly what was to be 
done at the meeting; but they had great confidence in Dobbin, 
and attended in full force. It was held under the old oak tree 
down in the pasture beside the brook. The gathering was 
rather a surprise to Dobbin, for he had not expected so many. 
He had given notice that all the useful animals and fowls of the 
farm should be present, and as the result all the horses, cattle, 
sheep and swine were there, and all the chickens, turkeys, 
ducks and geese had sent representatives. Towser, the dog, 
and Puss, the cat, were there in person. All the birds of the 



124 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

forest had sent representatives, and there were also representa- 
tives from the snakes and toads. 

" We are not animals," said one of the toads, " neither are 
we fowls; but we do claim to be useful. We destroy many 
noxious insects that would injure the crops grown on the farm. 
In fact, we live entirely on insects — such as flies, roaches, 
mosquitoes, worms and bugs, that would destroy agricultural 
crops. And we have been treated" — 

" Never mind how you have been treated," said Dobbin, 
"we will hear that farther on. I believe your statements to be 
true, and will allow you to remain in the convention." 

"And we," said one of the snakes, "live on insects the 
same as the toad, and assist in protecting the crops from these 
pests." 

"Yes," said the toad, "you sometimes make a meal on one 
of my species." 

"I admit that such things have been done, but I have 
never been guilty of such a crime," said the snake. 

" Is not your bite poisonous, and are you not a dangerous 
fellow to have about?" inquired Dobbin. 

"An entirely mistaken idea," said the snake; "there is 
but one poisonous snake in the State, and that is the rattle- 
snake. We do not associate with them at all. Although our 
teeth are sharp, we have no poison fangs, and our bite is no 
more dangerous than the prick of a needle. For the proof of 
this I refer you to any scientific investigator of the age." 

" Well, we will accept your statements as true, and allow 
you to remain in the convention," said Dobbin. 

" Bravo!" shouted some one in the rear, and Dobbin looked 
around and saw a long-eared mule. 

"Hello! by what right are you here?" inquired Dobbin. 

"By the rigb*- ^': my ability to get here," said the mule. 

"May I as' ,iiere you belong?" inquired Dobbin. 

" I was f^merly employed by a street car company of 
Indianapolis. I received too many kicks and blows and too 
much hard work for the amount of food I got, so I escaped 
from the stables and came out in the country for a vacation," 
said the mule. 

"Well," said Dobbin, "if you stay here you will not be 
likely to find your condition any better." 

"Never mind about me," said the mule. "It's just 



RECITATIONS. "5 

as easy to jump out of the field as it was to jump in; and if 
Farmer Shane tries to capture me, he'll find I'm something of 
a kicker." 

" That may be," said Dobbin, "but you will find that 
Farmer Shane is something of a kicker, too, as all the animals 
on the farm can testify." 

The cow was called upon. 

"My troubles are not as serious as those of some others 
on the farm; but I don't think I have been treated fairly," said 
the cow. " I give all the milk for the family, and don't be- 
grudge them any of it, yet when they took my calf from me I 
couldn't help but worry about it, and once I jumped the fence 
to get to it. Then Tom came with a club and beat me, and set 
Towser on me. I don't think that Towser is a bit better than 
Tom." 

"Mr. Chairman, I want to say a word here," said Towser, 
coming forward. " I admit that I have chased all the cattle, 
horses and hogs on the farm; but I have to do what my master 
commands me to do, for if I don't I will get kicks and blows. 
I haven't inflicted any serious injury on any of you, for my bark 
has always been worse than my bite." 

"We must not always judge each other by our actions," 
said Dobbin, "for we are sometimes compelled to do things 
that we would not do if left to our own free wills." 

"More than that," continued the cow, "that good-for- 
nothing Tom beats me and kicks me when he comes to milk 
me. He puts my neck in a stall where I can't turn my head 
around, and if I switch my tail to keep the flies off he gets 
mad and beats me. Why, last night he tied my tail to my leg 
so that I could not switch the flies, and a fly got on my back 
and bit me terribly. I couldn't switch it off with my tail, nor 
scare it off with my head. I stood it as long as I could, and 
then I kicked up with both of my feet. I only aimed to scare 
the fly away, but some way I kicked Tom over and spilt the 
bucket of milk all over him, and I am carrying the bruises on 
me where he beat me for it. I don't give down my milk very 
well sometimes, but what encouragement is there for a cow 
that is treated in that manner?" 

When the cow had finished, the horse Bay Dick was 
called on. 

"I don't intend to stand this treatment any longer," said 



126 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

Dick. " A horse don't get anything but blows on this farm, 
whether he does right or wrong. I know I've got a fiery tem- 
per, and always aim to take my own part. I'm sorry I ran 
away the other day and broke the colt's leg, but that's done 
and can't be helped. But one thing is certain, I don't intend 
to submit to this treatment any longer. " 

The other horses all said "bravo," and "that's right." 

"I'd be willing to do my share of the work if I was treated 
right," he continued; "but I get nothing but kicks and cuffs, 
and never a kind word. And there's that Tom has been driv- 
ing me every Sunday night down to Tracy's place. He ties me 
to a strong post out in the road, with my head pulled away 
back' with the check-rein, so that I cannot get my head down 
to rest it. Then he goes into the house and stays until ten or 
eleven o'clock, while I stand there and shiver with the cold. 
If he would just put a blanket over me I wouldn't suffer so 
much; but it's little he ever thinks of our comfort. I tried to 
break loose and come home, but I couldn't. You all know 
what old Dobbin has suffered at their hands, and that's what 
we'll all come to in the end." 

This speech was indorsed by them all. 

"I don't know that I have any grievance to speak of," 
said a pig. " I have a pretty good time. It's true I some- 
times get through a hole in the fence, and then Towser — 

" There it goes again," said Towser. " Always blaming 
me for something I can't help." 

"As I said," continued the pig, " I haven't much to com- 
plain of, but if I can do anything to help the rest of you I will 
doit." 

"There's a hole in the garden fence where my chickens 
would get in last summer, and then I would have to go in and 
watch them," said a hen. Then some of the other hens would 
get in, and Tom would come and throw stones at us. He 
killed two of my chickens and broke my wing. Sometimes he 
would set Towser on us — " 

"There now, I won't stand it any longer," said Towser, 
bristling up. 

" Order, order!" shouted Dobbin; and Towser lay down 
again. 

" I'm kicked and cuffed day in and day out," mewed Puss. 



RECITATIONS. 127 

' I try to catch all the rats and mice I can, but it don't do any 
good." 

"Am I allowed to speak?" asked a quail which had 
hopped up on the fence. 

"What reason can you give for appearing in this meet- 
ing," asked Dobbin. 

" For the reason that I live on insects, and bugs, and 
worms, which would be destructive to the farmer's crops. I 
speak for all classes of birds. It is true that we eat a little 
fruit and grain, but that is nothing in comparison to the great 
benefits the farmer receives from us. We have added greatly 
to the prosperity of the farm, yet our nests are destroyed, our 
young killed, and the merciless guns of both Shane and his 
son are popping away at us all the time." 

" That being the case, all birds that destroy troublesome 
insects are admitted to the convention," said Dobbin. 

There being no more speakers, Dobbin said the conven- 
tion would take a recess for five minutes, and go down to the 
brook and get a drink, after which they would discuss the 
matter as to the best and most convenient remedy for the evil? 
existing on the farm. 



BLIND DAN. 

BY EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 



'Tis hard to be blind, for any one, 

But hardest, I say, for a horse, 
Which must move, and strive, and labor, 

Commanded by human force; 
For human hearts are so flinty hard, 

And weak hands strong with a whip. 
Alas! and many a wicked yell 

Is hurled from a human lip. 

'Tis hard to be blind, for any one, 
But man, he can speak and plead, 

And learn by language the thing desired 
With a careful, leisurely heed. 



128 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

But, ah! for the sightless, speechless horse, 
Which must never be loth to know 

The hidden breadths of his owner's wants — 
Too oft he is told by a blow! 

Toiling, he bears the cut of the lash 

For a blunder he could not see, 
The jerk on the bit, which stings and tears 

At the strong flesh cruelly! 
The heavy loads, and the under feed, 

And the pinching of needed drink. 
For a blind horse is so cheap, they say, 

" No odds if he wear and shrink! " 

The coarse boys jeer at, and call him Bones; 

Do they think of the hungry days 
Which brought him down to a skeleton 

From the roundest of glossy bays? 
If they only knew what a charity 

A pat of the hand would be, 
And a gentle word, or a cooling drink, 

They would give them right cheerfully. 

I had a horse which was blind. To-day 

He went to his long, long rest, 
And I've this to comfort me, where he lies 

Will the wild flowers bloom the best. 
But the dearest comfort of all is this, 

I never forgot his need, 
And when urged to sell him I only said, 

" My love is more than my greed! " 

He sleeps in the woodland where he played 

With his mother when he was young, 
Where he saw the grass and the waving boughs 

And frolicked when wood-birds sung. 
For fifteen years we were friends, blind Dan, 

And I know that my care for you 
Was never a loss to the soul I bear; 

It is good to be kind and true! 



RECITATIONS, 129 

1 hope there's a heaven in the universe 

Where the sightless of earth can see, 
And all that is wrong will be righted there, 

To a practical certainty. 
1 fancy the devils which I shall see, 

And the ones I shall hate the worst, 
Will be the men who abused God's dumb, 

And rendered their lives accursed. 



EGYPT AND OLEO. 

A MULE STORY. 



"Gee up, Egypt! Whoa, Cleo!" 

But Egypt planted her feet stubbornly in front of her and 
refused to go a step farther, while Cleo made a slight menac- 
ing movement with her hind legs. 

Thwack came down the farmer's stick on the back of one 
and the other; whereupon Egypt planted her feet more firmly, 
and Cleo let her heels fly. 

The mules would not cross the bridge, and the bridge 
could not carry them over without co-operation. 

What a beautiful pair of mules they were! Egypt was 
coal black, and as sleek as a seal. So was Cleo, except for a 
white nose and two white feet. When Tom Saunders gave 
three hundred dollars for the pair six months ago, they were 
not worse than other mules. But, if the truth must be told, 
he and his mules were too much alike in temper to agree. The 
neighbors would stop their teams and make suggestions in 
passing. 

"Turn them around and back them over," suggested one. 

" Give them a wisp of hay, neighbor," said Hugh Good- 
win. 

" I won't coax them, if I never get over. They've got to 
go, not because they please, but because they must," he an- 
swered doggedly. 

"They are no better than the rest of us, Mr. Saunders," 
said Goodwin, " and sometimes a bit of kindness they are not 
looking for will take them on the weak side and undermine 
them like." 



*3* ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

u They won't get it from me," growled Saunders. 

Seeing that arguments and suggestions were as useless 
here with man as with beast, Hugh Goodwin passed on. 

It never occurred to Saunders how much alike he and his 
mules were. It gave him some satisfaction to jerk the bits 
and bring down his stick on their backs, but the situation re- 
mained unchanged. They had often quarreled before, but 
this was a last and decisive conflict of wills. 

" I'm beat," said Tom, and turned around and drove home. 
He was very hot, and wiping the perspiration from his face. 
The mules were quiet and not at all excited. They were the 
prettiest pair on the road. 

But the next sale day, a pair of fine mules were among the 
stock offered for public outcry. 

- Alas! Egypt and Cleo were too well known in that com- 
munity, and the bids were low. 

" How much for a valuable pair of mules, known as Egypt 
and Cleo?" 

" Twenty-five dollars for the pair," was the first bid. 

"Thirty," said Hugh Goodwin. 

"A splendid pair of mules going at thirty dollars." 

"Thirty-five," said one. 

"Forty," said Hugh Goodwin. 

" The prettiest pair of mules in the country, going for 
forty dollars." 

"Forty- five," came rather slowly. 

"Fifty," promptly from Hugh Goodwin. 

That was the last bid, and amid much "chaffing" about 
his bargain he led the mules home. 

The first time he stroked Egypt's black nose and gave her 
a bunch of hay from his hand, she jerked her head as if from 
a blow. Then she reconsidered and decided to take the hay. 
If she had put her mule-thoughts into words, they would have 
been something like, "That is queer." 

They did not leave off their old tricks all at once, but one 
new one that they took up was following their master about 
the lot. Whether it was because they liked him, or the hay 
or salt or turnips he gave them, will always be their secret. 

When he had owned them about a year he began driving 
them together again. For the most part they behaved very 
reasonably. The hardest thing for them to forget was that 



RECITATIONS. 131 

last struggle at the bridge. It seemed burned into their 
brains. 

About this time it happened, one market-day, that Tom 
Saunders's team and Hugh Goodwin's met again at the 
bridge. 

Saunders was driving a pair of ugly brown mules with 
patches of hair rubbed off here and there; and he could not 
help comparing them with Egypt and Cleo with their glossy 
black coats. 

"Gave three hundred for 'em, got six months of worry 
out of 'em, and sold 'em for fifty. Just two hundred and 
fifty dollars out of pocket," he was thinking as they ap- 
proached. 

Just then the blocks came to the foot of the bridge. It 
may have been the sound of their old master's voice, as he 
growled, "Get up hyer," to his team, or it may have been the 
sight of the bridge that revived the memory, but they came to 
a stand again on the identical spot. 

"How now, Neighbor Goodwin?" and Saunders chuckled 
with pleasure. 

Goodwin was off of his wagon in a moment and walking 
ahead of his mules. 

"Ho, Egypt! Ho, Cleo!" 

They were so used to following their master about that 
they forgot why they had stopped and just picked up their feet 
and went on. 

I am sorry to record that Mr. Saunders was much mortified 
and disappointed at this. He affected to laugh. " What new 
trick is that?" 

" It is just a trick of kindness, neighbor. With man or 
beast it is kindness that wins, and a soft answer turneth away 
wrath. It's such a pretty pair of mules, I feel like I have 
cheated you, and I am willing to give you a hundred dollars 
more on them. They haven't got the faults now that you 
sold them for." 

" You've broke me down, neighbor," said Saunders. "I 
can't take your money, but I believe your way is best." 

Egypt and Cleo were mules to the end of their days, but 
they were as stubborn about loving and following their master 
as about everything else. 

— Mary Louisa Eve, in Our Animal Friends. 



132 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 



THE NABOB'S DOUBLE. 

Br CERALD MASSEY. 

Has man a spirit that's more than breath, 
A spirit that walks in sleep or in death; 
Shakes off at will its dust of the earth, 
And, walking by night, goes wandering forth 
To work its wish with a noiseless tread, 
While the body lies bound full-length in bed? 

This is the fact, as sure as fate, 
For Burglar Bill and his midnight mate, 
That frightened until it converted him, 
To join the " Salvation Army" with Jim. 

Many a " crib " had the couple " cracked " ; 
Large was the luck with the swag they sacked. 
Many a time thought Burglar Bill, 
"Old Nabob looks very lone on the hill!" 
But there was the dog, whose infernal bark 
Could be heard through a mile of solid dark. 

One day it was rumored that " Keeper " was dead. 
To himself Bill knowingly nodded his head, 
" To-night or never," he simply said. 

That night up-hill the couple crept, 
To rifle his store as the rich man slept. 
Ail heaven mirrored with stars agleam, 
The dazzle of diamonds in their dream. 

They entered the treasury — struck a light — 

A tiny light — but it showed a sight 

To make the Burglar's heart turn white! 

The Nabob sitting alone in his chair, 

Facing them with his long white hair, 

And eyes wide open with corpse-like stare. 

And close by his side, keeping watch and ward, 



RECITATIONS. 133 

The statue as 'twere of a dog on guard, 
With mouth agape, but never a bark; 
The dog that was dead and stiff and stark; 
Threatening them as if in life! 

Jim rushed at the old man with his knife, 

And drove it right through — an empty chair, 

Instead of the figure sitting there. 

For the Nabob vanished, dog and all — 

And the burglars vanished without their haul. 

Meanwhile, at the moment he felt the stroke, 

Up stairs in bed the Nabob woke, 

" Oh, wife! are you here?" Am I dead? Is it night? 

Oh, wife! I have suffered an awful fright! 

I dreamed I was dozing below in my chair, 

When suddenly, helplessly, I was aware, 

In the dead of the night there was life in the gloom; 

Then a light — and two masked men in the room. 

One of them dealt me a murderous blow, 

And I woke from my dream in the room below. 

But this, oh, wife, was the strangest thing, 

« Keeper* was with me; I saw him spring, 

Swift as the flash of the falling knife 

He flew at the thief as he would in life! " 

Only a dream; but they went down stair, 
And there were the burglar's tools, and there 
The knife was stuck in its stab of the chair! 



THE KIND OP MEN CRUEL BOYS MAKE. 

BY EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 

The boy — we will call him Judas Priest! — was an animated 
nettle in pantaloons. Nothing ever suited him. He thought 
he owned the entire family, and their end and aim in life should 
be to amuse and wait on him. His father made him a cord of 
whistles before he got big enough to whittle, and never one 
suited him. He generally chewed them up within half an 
hour after they were done, because they didn't make noise 



.34 ANGELL PRIZE CONTEST 

enough. His mother ran herself into her grave trying to sat- 
isfy his wants, and gave up the struggle. He pulled flies to 
pieces, shot birds, robbed nests, instigated dog fights, fright- 
ened the baby, hung his little sister's best and dearest doll by 
the neck from a hook in the ceiling, let the canary bird out so 
the cat would be sure to catch it, put pepper on the baby's 
tongue, got his mother to sit down on a pin, pulled the chaii 
away when his father was sitting down, and he knew he had 
rheumatism, and yet he lived to grow up — and went sparking! 

He really got himself engaged to a young woman, who 
ought to have been called Submit Simpleton. I do not know 
what her real name was, but she was not up-to-date in mental 
qualities, at least in good judgment. 

Judas Priest had made his betrothed solemnly promise that 
after their marriage she would furnish hot biscuits three times 
a day. She faithfully kept to her promise for a long time, 
but at last rebelled, whereupon her husband grew violently 
angry, and not only persisted in feeding the cold bread to the 
pigs, but in making his wife view the sacrifice. Still persistent 
in her obduracy he sued for divorce, and not only got it, but 
the child, while the wife was awarded $200. It was certainly 
more than she deserved, for being such a fool as to make such 
a promise in the first place, but what shall be said of such a 
judicial decision in this closing decade of the nineteenth centu- 

Indeed, wonders have not ceased. Quite different from 
this is the decision of Judge Tuley of the Circuit court of Cook 
county, 111. Men sometimes become very autocratic, even to 
being tyrannical. They are chief rulers in their own homes, 
and if they are never contradicted by anybody, sometimes they 
forget that anybody else has rights and opinions. An abnor- 
mal development of this was brought to light in the divorce of 
a Mrs. Chambers, of whom Judge Tuley said: " She has been 
subject to worse cruelty than I have known in forty years' expe- 
rience, although no act of physical violence has been inflicted 
upon her." 

Her husband had commanded her to cut herself off from 
her relatives. He made her black his shoes and clean the 
horses. If she failed to stew a tough chicken tender, or run 
to meet him with a kiss, he punished her by making her stay in 
bed so many days, letting her rise just long enough to do the 



RECITATIONS. 135 

chores within and without. Finally a baby came to the home 
of this spoiled man. When it was six weeks old he slapped 
its face, and then, because the mother remonstrated, he sent 
her to bed for a day. 

He kept her in the most abject submission by threatening 
to take the baby from her. She would remain in bed, do with- 
out food, and wash its clothes in water he brought to her. 
Finally he hid the baby, and told her she should never see it 
again if she was disobedient. She was abject in submission, 
but that failed to make him bring back the child, or tell where 
it was hidden. How singularly cruel this fiend was? But at 
last her mother-love rose superior to the hypnotic influence of 
the diabolic husband and, almost frenzied, the poor woman 
sought her own relations, a divorce and the custody of her 
child. Judge Tuley gave the decision in favor of the wife, say- 
ing he could not give a construction to the law that all cruelty 
must be physically inflicted. Mrs. Chambers had suffered 
worse torture than blows. We can but feel disgust with a wife 
who will obey such detestable commands; but we must remem- 
ber there are laws which control the influence of one mind 
upon another, and that weakness is not a matter of choice. 

Such instances of depravity show us how necessary it is to 
begin in early childhood to build the man or the woman. They 
teach us that lessons in kindness should keep down the prac- 
tice of cruelty. That cultivation should be upward instead of 
downward; that children should learn to put themselves in an- 
other's place, and do nothing which they would not be willing 
to receive themselves. 

When they can be just and honorable from childhood to 
manhood and womanhood, we shall have no one-sided matri- 
monial partnerships, such as I have pictured, which were taken 
from real life, and occurred in 1894. 

What bad boys those men must have been, who so sadly 
neglected their moral education! We hope that widely dif- 
fused humane instruction will prevent any more such mascu- 
line productions, but if they do appear on the earth, it may be 
that the ghost of some Jack the Giant Killer will swoop down, 
and carry them off to a phosphate factory, instead of letting 
them serve in the capacity of family devil. 



136 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 



MY MOTHER. 

Don't call my mother old! That form to me so fair, 

Though her forehead may be wrinkled and silvery her hair; 

For oft in infant helplessness she bent in loving mood 

To satisfy my ev'ry need, and give me daily food! 

And then as I grew stronger it was she who led the way, 

And taught my little feet to run in merry baby play; 

And when our evening romp was o'er, our game of hide and 

seek, 
She taught my lisping tongue to pray: "1 lay me down to 

sleep." 

Don't call my mother old! Though feeble she has grown, 
And her eyes have lost the luster which once they used to own; 
Though her cheeks are thin and pallid and show deep lines of 

care, 
To me that face is beautiful — the fairest of the fair; 
And her fingers, too, so nimble, so deft in works of art, 
That I've sometimes thought the fairies had really played their 

part; 
Her step so slow and tott'ring still retains its modest grace, 
With that upright, queenly bearing, which even now I trace. 

Don't call my mother old! Though faltering her tongue, 
Her voice is still as sweet to me as the music which she sung. 
Ah! how well do I remember, like the echo of her song 
The same clear notes return again through years now past and 

gone! 
And when, as in pleasing story, she speaks of joy or woe, 
In the time that's past forever, in the long, long ago, 
I ever love to listen to her tales of olden time, 
As to the sweetest melody of some far distant chime. 

Don't call my mother old! I cannot bear it well, 
For it rings upon my soul like the tolling of a knell; 
And I feel as if I'd lost her, e'en while she's with me still — 
Oh! there is not another friend a mother's place can fill; 



RECITATIONS. 137 

And none need ever chide me for being overfond, 

For I feel the tie that binds me to be a loving bond, 

Which time has served to strengthen and made to me most 

dear 
A mother's holy precept, as she walked in godly fear. 

Don't call my mother old! 'Twould almost break my heart 
To be constantly reminded that she and I must part; 
For we have passed together full many a happy year, 
As companions to each other in ev'ry joy and fear; 
And as the time shall narrow down between her life and mine, 
Oh! let me still be happy as my heart would e'er incline; 
And when the cord is broken unto which I've ever clung, 
'Twill be sweet then to remember mother is always young. 

— Philadelphia Methodist. 



AN OLD COUPLE FROM THE COUNTRY VISIT 
THE ORPHANS' 

[An incident in the work of E. C. Parmelee, General 
Agent of the Cleveland (Ohio) Humane Society.] 

"Ye see," said a rustic-looking old fellow of 60, as he 
dropped into a hospitable chair in Humane Agent Parmelee's 
office, " Mariar read about the fight in the Samaritan's Home, 
where they turned them thirty-four little children out into the 
world, an' nothin' would do but we must come to Cleveland. 
Mariar 'lows that sence we'd paid the morgidge and the farm 
was prosperin' ginerally, God Almighty'd expect us to do some 
visible good. So we takes the train for Cleveland and we goes 
to see them poor homeless babies. We'll take three of 'em." 

"Three of them?" 

"Yes, sir, three of 'em. Two girls and a boy. We'll 
adopt 'em all legal and raise 'em proper." 

" But it is a little unusual to take so many and" — 

" I know it, but you let Mariar alone. She's ingineerin' 
this thing, and let me tell you, Mr. Agent, there ain't no better 
ingineer of sech things than Mariar. Three of 'em it a r. Ye 
see, it's this way: 

"Mariar and me comes to Cleveland and calls on them 



138 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

thirty-four homeless children informal like. There they was, 
and such a sight! Some boys an' the restgirls. Little an' big. 
Blonds and broonets. Some laughin' an' some cryin'. Some 
fat an' wholesome lookin'; others thin with hollows at the 
temples an' sunken eyes. Mariar was breathin' hard in about 
a minute. I knew what she was a sayin' to herself in her mind. 
She was thinkin' that all them poor children hadn't no father, 
no mother nor no homes — just nothin'. She was a feelin' as if 
she wanted to adopt 'em all. That's what Mariar felt. The 
best woman, Mr. Agent, that ever wore shoe leather. 

" Pretty soon one baby squirms out of a heap on the floor 
an' comes crawling toward us. He had blue eyes an' light 
hair and a fat face, and he kept ' boo-oo-in' ' as he kem along. 
Then I felt Mariar clutch my arm an' tremble powerful, an' 
pretty soon when I'd got my arm 'round her, I felt her head on 
my shoulder an' she was cryin' hard. Ye see, mother — no, 
Mariar and me agreed she shouldn't be called that, nigh thirty 
years ago — ye see, Mariar and me had children onct, years ago. 
Three little ones, pretty nigh of a size and pretty nigh of an 
age too, be gosh! Mother — no, Mariar, has got some little 
shoes and dresses an' sech like tucked away somewhere yit 
that she gits out 'casionally and hugs and cries over. Diptheery 
took all those little ones almost at onct. Hardest work of my 
life's been to teach Mariar to forgive God for it. Sometimes I 
think I haven't quite succeeded yit. 

"Waal, when that little rosy motherless, fatherless, home- 
less fellow kem crawlin' an' boo-oo-in' toward Mariar he looked 
so like our little Will that Mariar wilted an' I swar I'd a run ef 
I could. But along comes that little baby up to us an' ketches 
hold of Mariar's skirt an' turns up his little chubby face an' 
talks baby to her as if he'd known her forty years. Mariar 
looks down. That settles it. She makes a grab, an' in a holy 
second that baby ain't motherless, nor fatherless, nor homeless 
never no more. 

"'Bout this time, as nigh as I kin remember, I felt some- 
thin take hold of my right leg, the one which troubles me with 
roomatiz so much. I hed to look around a bit to see what 
'twas. Well, sir, ye could 'a' knocked me flat with a thistle- 
down. If there warn't my own little Bessie come to life agin! 
There was her blue eyes an' curls an' cute chubby nose an' red 
mouth 'bout as big as two currants, an' her smile. Mr. Agent, 



RE CITA TIONS. 1 39 

ye never lived with something in yer heart that ached all the 
while, did ye? Yer heart never answered the laugh of a child 
with a groan all during more'n thirty odd year, did it? Ye 
never kem home tired out an' had the sweat wiped off yer face 
by a little daughter not mor'n a foot high, did ye? Ye never 
hev felt little soft arms that wouldn't go half way 'round yer 
neck, hev ye? Ye never hev worked eighteen hours a day and 
never felt the morgidge on the farm a bit because ye was paid 
at night in the kisses of yer little girl, hev ye? Ye never hed 
all that took out of yer life suddent, did ye? Well, thar she 
was agin, smilin' up at me and squeezin' my leg just as she 
used to. An' I picked up the little mite hungry like, with that 
hard lump gone out of my heart, an' walks over to where Mariar 
had sot down to cuddle that baby boy. An' I looks at Mariar 
an' Mariar looks at me an' we both understand. An' neither of 
us say a word, but both hugs the children tighter until I says, 
say© I, 'Mariar, it has got to be twins,' and, by crackey! for 
the first time in thirty odd years, Mariar lets me have my own 
opinion without sayin' a word. 

"Waal, Mr. Agent, things was pretty comfortable by this 
time, but Mariar spies a wee baby that was propped in a corner, 
son o' by itself. It was a sickly-looking, starved-looking, humly 
little imp, but it sot quiet an' didn't smile nor cry, like the rest. 
It was sort o' deserted, ye see, an' didn't seem to partickerly 
belong nowhere nor to nobody. Mariar she goes over to it an' 
takes it up, when one of them Samaritans comes up. 

" 'Thinkin' of adoptin' a child, mum?' says she. 

" 'Yes, mum,' says Mariar. 

" 'I must in dooty tell ye,' says the Samaritan, 'that this 
child is a child of sin an' is crippled in one of its legs.' 

"That riled Mariar to onct, an' I knew somethin' to think 
about on yer piller at night was a-comin', sure. 

"'Mum,' says Mariar, short like, 'Jesus Christ, when he 
tuk little children into his bosom, didn't ask their pedigree, nor 
whether they had one leg or four. Hiram,' adds Mariar, in 
her most determinedest way, 'we'll take this one, too,' an' 
with that we followed directions an' kem to you. 

'Yes, Mr. Agent, three of 'em, if you please. A sturdy 
boy, who is to be the staff of our old age, for Mariar. The 
little rosebud baby girl to ride on my shoulders, an' the poor, 



i 4 o ANGELL PRIZE-COX TEST 

crippled, nameless, sad-faced child of sin for the sake of Jesus 
Christ, in whose arms the children of the poor nestled. Our 
home an' our hearts for all of 'em! Not less than thrw 
will do." 



TOM. 

Yes, Tom's the best fellow that ever you k**ew. 

Just listen to this: — 
When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell thrott^ 
And I with it, helpless there, full in my view, 
What do you think my eyes saw through the fire 
That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher, 
But Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to see 
The shining? He must have come there after me 
Toddled alone from the cottage without 
Anyone's missing him. Then, what a shout — 
Oh! how I shouted, " For Heaven's sake, men, 
Save little Robin!" Again and again 
They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall 
I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call, 
" Never mind, baby, sit still like a man! 
We're coming to get you as fast as we can." 
They could not see him, but I could. He sat 
Still on a beam, his little straw hat 
Carefully placed by his side; and his eyes 
Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise, 
Calm and unconscious, as nearer it crept. 
The roar of the fire up above must have kept 
The sound of his mother's voice shrieking his name 
From reaching the child. But I heard it. It came 
Again and again. O God, what a cry! 
The axes went faster; I saw the sparks fly 
Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat 
That scorched them — when, suddenly, there at their feet 
The great beams leaned in — they saw him — then, crash, 
Down came the wall! The men made a dash — 
Jumped to get out of the way— and I thought, 
" All's up with poor little Robin! " and brought 



RE CITA TIONS. 141 

Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide 
The sight of the child there — when swift, at my side, 
Some one rushed by, and went right through the flame, 
Straight as a dart — caught the child — and then came 
Back with him, choking and crying, but — saved! 
Saved safe and sound! 

Oh, how the men raved, 
Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed! Then they all 
Rushed at the work again, lest the back wall 
Where I was lying, away from the fire, 
Should fall in and bury me. 

Oh! you'd admire 
To see Robin now; he's as bright as a dime, 
Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time. 
Tom it was saved him. Now, isn't it true 
Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew? 
There's Robin now! See, he's strong as a log! 
And there comes Tom, too — 

Yes, Tom was our dog. 
— Constance Fenimore Woolson. 



GREY FRIARS' BOBBY. 

"Where will you find a man always grateful, always af- 
fectionate, never selfish, pushing the abnegation of self to the 
utmost limits of possibility, forgetful of injuries and mindful 
only of benefits received? Seek him not; it would be a useless 
task; but take the first dog you meet, and from the moment he 
adopts you for his master, you will find in him all these quali- 
ties. He will love you without calculation. His greatest hap- 
piness will be to be near you; and should you be reduced to 
beg your bread, not only will he aid you, but he will not 
abandon you to follow a king to his palace. Your friends may 
quit you in misfortune, but your dog will remain; he will die 
at your feet; or, if you depart before him on the great voyage, 
will accompany you to your last abode." 

"A poor man died, and was buried in a graveyard at Ed- 
inburgh, Scotland, his only mourner a little Scotch terrier. On 
the two succeeding mornings the sexton found the dog lying on 



142 ANGELl PRIZE-CONTEST 

his master's grave, and drove him away with hard words, dogs 
being against the rules. 

"The third morning was cold and wet, and when the sex- 
ton found him shivering on the new-made grave, he hadn't the 
heart to drive him away, and gave him something to eat. 

" From that time, the dog made the churchyard his home, 
every night for twelve years and five months. No matter how 
cold or wet or stormy the night, he could not be induced to 
stay away from the beloved spot, and if shut up would howl 
dismally. 

" Every day, when the castle gun was fired at ten o'clock, 
he went punctually to a restaurant near by, where the propri- 
etor fed him. The Lord Provost of Edinburgh exempted him 
from the dog tax, and to mark his admiration of his fidelity, 
presented him with a handsome collar inscribed, 'Grey Friars' 
Bobby, presented by the Lord Provost of Edinburgh.' 

"He had many friends and visitors, and many, beside the 
men employed about the yard, tried to win his affections; but 
he refused to attach himself to any one person. For twelve 
years and five months he kept his watch over his master's 
humble grave, and then died quietly of old age, and was buried 
in a flower-bed near by. The master's grave is unmarked by 
any stone, but an expensive marble fountain was erected to the 
memory of his homeless dog, and the sculptor was paid twenty- 
five hundred dollars for the model of the bronze statue of 
Bobby which sits on top of it." 

It is hard to believe that all that wonderful capacity for 
loving faithfulness ceased to exist when the breath stopped. — 
Rev. F. M. Todd. 



TIMOTHY TITUS. 



"Kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty! — kitty, kitty, kitty!— mammal- 
do you know where Timothy Titus is? " 

"No, child. The last I saw of him he was chasing that 
little chipmunk, which runs about the walnut trees. " 

"The naughty cat!" (Goes to door and calls) ''Kitty, kitty, 
kitty, come and get some nice supper." 

"Dear me," said mamma, "I can't think of having four 
cats in the house all winter!" 



RECITATIONS. i4 3 

"I should say you couldn't,'* laughed papa. "You'll 
have to give them away. " 

But there was the old kitty; papa himself couldn't think of 
giving her away. She had been in the house ever since it was 
built, and there wasn't a better mouser anywhere. 

Then there were Toots and Jingle; it did seem a pity to 
part them. 

And then there was Timothy Titus. He was black and 
white, but a good deal more white than black. 

" He is an odd one," laughed mamma. " We might give 
him away first. " 

But Ava made a grieved lip, and caught up Timothy Titus. 

" O-oh! he's so sweet and cunning, mamma, I can't bear 
to part with him." 

By and by, when the three kittens were taking their after- 
dinner nap by the fire, Mr. Davis came in. Mr. Davis lived on 
the other side of the river, and peddled apples. He looked 
down at the little furry heap, and laughed. 

" Seems to me you've got more than your share of cats," 
said he. " We haven't got any." 

"Ava may give you one of ours," said mamma. 

Ava looked down at her shoes. Mr. Davis could tell which 
way the wind blew. 

" What say we make a trade? " he said to Ava. " I'll give 
jou a peck of sweet apples for this one;" and he picked up 
Timothy Titus. 

A peck of sweet apples didn't grow on every bush. Be- 
sides, maybe four cats were too many. 

" I — I will if mamma'll let me not give away Toots and 
Jingle," said she. 

"We'll see about it," said she. " Three cats are less than 
four, anyway." 

So Mr. Davis measured out a peck of sweet apples, and 
gave them to Ava; and Ava hugged and kissed and cried over 
Timothy Titus, and gave him to Mr. Davis, who put him in a 
basket and tied a bag over him. 

" I guess he'll be all right," said Mr. Davis. " Good day;" 
and away rumbled the apple-cart. 

But as soon as Timothy Titus was fairly out of the way, 
Ava began to mourn. She stood at the window with a very 



144 ANGELL PRIZR-CONTEST 

doleful face, looking across the river at Mr. Davis's big white 
house. 

The sky had all at once grown cloudy, and the wind began 
to blow; and, as if to make a bad matter worse, Toots woke up 
and flew around the room in a fit. 

" It's all 'cause he knows Timothy Titus is (sobbing) 
gone. How'd I feel if Teddy was gaved away, where I'd 
never see him any more? And the apples are bitterish, too, 
and I don't like 'em. Oh, dear! " 

Mamma smiled in her sleeve. She said: ' 'Maybe Timothy 
Titus would come home again," though she didn't really believe 
he would herself. 

"I've heard of such things," said she; and then she told 
Ava a story about a cat that traveled forty miles back to her old 
home. 

"But I don't believe Timothy Titus can," sighed Ava, 
brightening up a little, all the same, "'cause he's over the riv- 
er, and there isn't any bridge, only the ferryboat, mamma. I 
most know he can't." 

" Oh! stranger things have happened," said mamma, hope- 
fully. 

But she was as surprised as Ava was next morning. When 
the kitchen door was opened — what do you guess? In walked 
Timothy Titus, as large as life! 

" Hello! " cried papa. 

" Well! well! " said mamma. " Why, Timothy Titus! " 

Just at that minute Ava came running out in her nightie, 
She gave one look. She snatched Timothy Titus up in her arms. 

"Oh! oh! oh!" she screamed. " Oh, you darling! Oh, 
you darling! How did he get here, mamma? " 

" I'm sure I can't tell," said mamma. 

Neither could anybody else, unless it was the ferryman, 
who, when papa questioned him, believed he did remember 
thinking he saw a little black and white cat somewhere the 
night before. But he wasn't sure of it, and so Ava couldn't be. 

"Anyway, Timothy Titus has comeback," said she. "And 
he's going to stay, can't he, mamma? And I'm going to give 
Mr, Davis back his apples." 

But Mr. Davis said a trade was a trade, and he wouldn't 
take back the apples; and Timothy Titus stayed. — A. C. S., 
Youth's Companion. 



RECITATIONS. 145 



A LEGEND OP THE NORTHLAND. 

BY PHCEBE CAREY. 

Away, away, in the Northland, 

Where the hours of the day are few, 

And the nights are so long in Winter 
They cannot sleep them through; 

Where they harness the swift reindeer, 

To the sledges when it snows; 
And the children look like bears' cubs, 

In their funny, furry clothes. 

They tell them a curious story — 

I don't believe 'tis true; 
And yet you may learn a lesson, 

If I tell the tale to you. 

Once, when the good St. Peter 

Lived in the world below, 
And walked about it preaching, 

Just as he did, you know. 

He came to the door of a cottage, 

In traveling 'round the earth, 
Where a little woman was making cakes, 

And baking them on the hearth; 

And being faint with fasting, 

For the day was almost done, 
He asked her, from her store of cakes, 

To give him a single one. 

She made a very little cake, 

But as it baking lay 
She looked at it, and thought it seemed 

Too large to give away. 

Therefore she kneaded another, 
And still a smaller one; 



146 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

But it looked, when she turned it over 
As large as the first had done. 

Then she took a tiny scrap of dough 

And rolled and rolled it flat; 
And baked it thin as a wafer — 

But she couldn't part with that. 

For she said, " My cakes that seem too small 

When I eat of them myself, 
Are yet too large to give away," 

So she put them on the shelf. 

The good St. Peter grew angry, 

For he was hungry and faint; 
And surely such a woman 

Was enough to provoke a saint. 

And he said, " You are far too selfish 

To dwell in a human form, 
To have both food and shelter, 

And a fire to keep you warm. 

Now, you shall build as the birds do, 
And shall get your scanty food 

By boring, and boring, and boring, 
All day in the hard, dry wood." 

Then she went up through the chimney, 

Never speaking a word; 
And out of the top flew a woodpecker, 

For she was changed to a bird. 

She had a scarlet cap on her head, 

And that was left the same; 
But all the rest of her clothes were burned 

Black as a coal in the flame. 

And every country schoolboy 

Has seen her in the wood, 
Where she lives in the trees to this very day 

Boring and boring for food. 

And this is the lesson she teaches; 
Live not for yourself alone, 



RECITA TIONS. i 47 

Lest the needs you will not pity „ 
Shall one day be your own. 

Give plenty of what is given you, 

Listen to pity's call; 
Don't think the little you give is great, 

And the much you get is small, 

Now, my little bo}% remember that, 

And try to be kind and good, 
When you see the woodpecker's sooty dress, 

And see her scarlet hood, 

You mayn't be changed to a bird, tho' you live 

As selfishly as you can; 
But you will be changed to a smaller thing — 

A mean and selfish man. 



HUMANE EDUCATION THE WORK OP THE 
BAND OF MERCY. 

BY CEO. T. ANCELL. 

It is not the uneducated alone that are in training to com- 
mit crime. In the various Boston papers, some time since, 
appeared the following telegram: "Some two hundred stu- 
dents of College got drunk on Thursday night, and be- 
haved so outrageously at the Hahnemann fair, that all the la- 
dies left, and the police were powerless to preserve order. 
After leaving the fair, they raided about a dozen lager-beer sa- 
loons, and fighting, riot and scandalous behavior continued in 
the neighborhood till daylight, the police being afraid to med- 
dle with them." In the Boston Journal of Jan. 25, 1882, I find 
that twenty-three students of another college had just been 
indicted by the grand jury, and arrested for crime. These are 
not exceptional cases. I could quote various other colleges as 
well, to show the spirit of lawlessness which prevails among 
large numbers of our educated young men. 

The facilities for committing crime are constantly increas- 
ing. I am assured, on what I believe to be entirely reliable 
authority, that a machine has been recently invented, costing 



148 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

only $5, with which the skillful burglar can open the strongest 
safe in any vault of our cities, in thirty minutes, without noise. 

A Nihilist lecturer recently stated to a Boston audience, 
that there were now about four hundred schools in Europe (he 
did not say how many in America) whose only object is to teach 
the use of explosives; that about sixty tons of tri-nitroglycerine, 
having ninety-three times the power of gunpowder, are now 
concealed, ready for use; that he carried dynamite always in 
his pocket; and two ounces of an explosive he had, put at the 
entrance of the Tremont Temple, where he was lecturing, 
would destroy the life of every person in that building. 

Science is making wonderful progress. Steamers can be 
blown to atoms in mid-ocean, railroad trains be wrecked, safe- 
ty vaults and magnificent piles of architecture changed in a mo- 
ment to shapeless ruins. It is perfectly certain that the crim- 
inal classes of the future are going to know all about these 
things; and it is becoming a most momentous question: How 
are we going to stop the growth of crime? 

Is this state of things, under present influences, likely to 
grow better? See the hordes of immigrants pouring in upon 
us from all nations of the civilized world, all to become voters. 
See the innumerable millions of China and the East, that can- 
not be much longer kept out. Add these chances to present 
statistics, and then figure it out, if you can, that this continent 
is not to become the great battle-ground of the world, between 
the powers of good and evil. 

One great secret organization, the " Knights of Labor," 
numbers already nearly two millions of members, all combined 
to resist, and if necessary wage war on capital, which they de- 
clare is waging war on them. Are these controversies to be 
settled in the future humanely by arbitration and the ballot, or 
how are they to be settled? This is going to be a great ques- 
tion before long, and it may be much sooner than we expect. 
Four hundred schools in Europe, we are told, are teaching the 
use of dynamite, and its apostles are not few nor far between. 

If we drift into another civil war, where will be found these 
great and growing criminal classes who never enter church or 
Sunday. school, who believe property should be divided or de- 
stroyed? Will they, or will they not, come to the front, as they 
did in the French Revolution? And what is the remedy? Pass 
more stringent laws, perhaps you say. How are you going to 



RE CI T A TIONS. 1 49 

pass them? and how are you going to enforce them, when more 
or less men on every jury (and it may be some of your judges 
even) are in sympathy with crime? 

It was ascertained some time since, that on the voting-lists 
of the city of Boston were the names of more than six thou- 
sand persons who had been convicted of crime. Put more 
work into the Sunday-schools, perhaps you say. That's all 
very well; but what are you going to do with the millions that 
never enter the Sunday-schools? 

I do not seek to disparage our present great and powerful 
instrumentalities of good, and the army of noble and self-sac- 
rificing men and women engaged in them. I only seek to show 
that, in spite of them all, crime is increasing far beyond our 
increase of population, and seems likely to increase still more 
in the future, and that new measures must be adopted. What 
can we do? I answer, in my judgment, there is only one way. 
We must go straight to the foundations, and begin with the 
children in our public schools; and that will be the quickest 
way to reach the parents. If we want to stop lawlessness and 
crime, we must begin with the children in our public schools. 
Nearly all the criminals of the future, the thieves, burglars, 
incendiaries, and murderers, -are now in our public schools; 
and with them the greater criminals who commit national 
crimes. They are in our public schools now, and we are edu- 
cating them. We can mould them now if we will. To illus- 
trate the power of education: We know that you may make 
the same boy Protestant, Roman Catholic, or Mahometan. It 
is simply a question of education. You may put into his little 
hand, as first toys, whips and guns and swords, or you may 
teach him, as the Quakers do, that war and cruelty are crimes. 
You may teach him to shoot the little song-bird in springtime, 
with its nest full of young; or you may teach him to feed the 
bird, and spare its nest. You may go into the schools now with 
book, picture, song, and story, and make neglected boys mer- 
ciful; or you may let them drift until, as men, they have be- 
come sufficiently lawless and cruel to throw your railway trains 
off the track, place dynamite under your dwelling-houses or 
public buildings, assassinate your President, burn half your 
city, or, as Nihilistic leaders, involve the nation in civil war. 
Is it not largely, if not wholly, a question of education? 



150 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

I say, then, that our remedy against the lawlessness and 
crime now so rapidly growing in this country lies in the humane 
— which will be found to include also the moral — education of 
the children, and that this is also the shortest road to reach the 
the parents. 



A GOOD SHOT. 



Once there was a boy who was a good marksman with a 
stone or a slingshot, or a bow and arrow, or a cross-bow, or 
an air-gun, or anything he took aim with. So he went about 
all day, aiming at everything he came near. Even at his meals 
he would think about good shots at the clock, or the cat, or the 
flies on the wall, or anything he chanced to see. 

Near where he dwelt there lived a little bird that had a 
nest and five young birds. So many large mouths in small 
heads, always open wide for food, kept her hard at work. 
From dawn to dark she flew here and there, over fields and 
woods and roads, getting worms, and flies, and bugs, and seeds, 
and such things as she knew were good for her young birds. 
It was a great wonder what lots of food those five small things 
could eat. What she brought each day would have filled that 
nest full up to the top, yet they ate it all and asked for more 
before daylight next morning. 

Though it was such hard work, she was glad to do it, and 
went on day after day, always flying off with a gay chirp, and 
back with a bit of some kind of food; and though she did not 
eat much herself, except what stuck to her bill after she had fed 
them, yet she never let them want, not even the smallest and 
weakest of them. The little fellow could not ask as loudly as 
the others, yet she always fed him first. 

One day, when she had picked up a worm, and perched a 
minute on the wall before flying to her nest, the good marks 
man saw her, and of course aimed at her, and hit her in the 
side. She was much hurt and in great pain, yet she fluttered 
and limped, and dragged herself to the foot of the tree where 
her nest was, but she could not fly up to her nest, for her wing 
was broken. 

She chirped a little and the young ones heard her, and as 
they were hungry they chirped back loudly, and she knew all 



RECITATIONS. 151 

their voices, even the weak note of the smallest of all; but she 
could not come up to them, nor even tell them why she did not 
come. And when she heard the call of the small one she tried 
again to rise, but only one of her wings would move, and that 
just turned her over on the side of the broken wing. 

All the rest of that day the little mother lay there, and 
when she chirped, her children answered, and when they 
chirped, she answered, only when the good marksman chanced 
to pass by; then she kept quite still. But her voice grew fainter 
and weaker, and late in the day the young ones could not hear 
it any more, but she could still hear them. 

Some time in the night the mother-bird died, and in the 
morning she lay there quite cold and stiff, with her dim eyes 
still turned up to the nest where her young ones were dying of 
hunger. But they did not die so soon. All day long they 
slept, until their hunger waked them up, and then called until 
they were so tired they fell asleep again. 

And the next night was very cold and they missed their 
mother's warm breast, and before day-dawn they all died, one 
after the other, excepting the smallest, which was lowest down 
in the nest, and in the morning he pushed up his head and 
opened his yellow bill to be fed; but there was no one to feed 
him, and so he died, too, at last, with his mouth wide open 
and empty. 

And so, the good marksman had killed six birds with one 
shot — the mother and her five young ones. Do you not think 
he must be a proud boy? Should you like to do the same? 



COURT SCENES IN CHICAGO. 

BY CYNTHIA LEONARD. 

Scene first is in the large hall of justice in the county court 
house on the north side of the river in the city of Chicago. It 
is ten o'clock Saturday morning, and there are at least twenty 
prisoners awaiting examination. It is a peculiar and markedly 
impressive scene, as all the prisoners are old, and many of them 
infirm. The usual ceremony of opening the court is com- 
pleted. Spectators fill the room and the name of the prisoner 
is announced. A tall, well-built, though somewhat emaciated 



152 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

man approaches the stand. There is dignity and upright- 
ness in his bearing. His head is well poised, finely shaped, 
and covered with thin, flowing, wavy, white hair. A high in- 
tellectual forehead slightly overshadows his finely-cut features. 
The mouth is firm, the chin closely shaven and strong. The 
most marked features are his large, dark-gray eyes, which he 
turns upon the judge with a look of patient endurance. He re- 
sponds to his name in feeble accents; the hollow cough that 
succeeds tells the painful story that consumption has fastened 
upon his lungs. The judge with a show of dignity says: 

" You are accused by your son-in-law, John Smith, of be- 
ing insane. What have you to say? " 

"Nothing, your Honor, nothing." 

There is an entire absence in the court-room of defending 
attorneys. Only for the prosecution do the legal advisers ap- 
pear on this occasion. The poor old prisoner is cross-ques- 
tioned, and answers in a correct and dignified manner. At 
length the judge says in a solemn tone, calling the prisoner by 
name: 

"You are pronounced insane, caused by old age, and wil) 
be conveyed to the Cook County Insane Asylum." 

His accuser, who looks like a born butcher, smiles sarcasti- 
cally, saying, " Good-by, old man. Good luck to )'ou." And 
with a derisive laugh he leaves the room. The prisoner bows 
his head in meek submission, while tears are coursing down 
his cheeks, and clasping his hands in despair he cries, "Oh! 
my poor daughter — my poor, poor child! " and he is led into 
an inner room. 

The second is called. The first name is Marguerette. I do 
not recollect the other. The face and form are of a shriveled 
and shrunken woman, extremely small in stature, with pierc- 
ing black eyes and iron-gray hair. Her clothing is clean, care- 
fully and very much mended; her knitting is in her hand, while 
she listens to what the judge is saying to her. She is nerv- 
ously winding round and round the ball of yarn attached. 

"What have you to say?" queries the judge, when the 
charge is stated. She looked startled and pained. 

" What shall I sav? Mr. Shudge. What shall I say? " and 
she heaves a heavy sigh. "I shall say dat I am not well 
enough to wash and scrub and attend to de fires; de sehilders 



RECITATIONS. 153 

is all grown too big to need me more. I shall say that I am no 
more wanted, as de schilders can do all dat I can now. I am 
old and useless, and my son-in-law do not want me any 
more. " 

" Well," replied the judge, "you are pronounced insane 
and will be conveyed to the Cook County Insane Asylum." 

Her wild hysterical wail sends a great throb of pity and 
sympathy through the room. " O Got! O Got! I have loved 
dose schilders so, I have carried dem in dese old arms," hold- 
ing up her shrunken, bony arms. " I have brought dem back to 
life when dey seemed dead. I have worn out my life for dem 
and der mudder, and now I must go to de county poorhouse 
and be called insane. No one dat I ever saw before to kiss 
grossmudder goot-night." 

She tears the hood from her head, her face grows darker 
as the iron-gray hair falls about her, while she throws herself 
upon a bench in a paroxysm of grief. Two strong arms lift her 
up and drag her to another room. 

" And now the scene of horror continues. There are more 
men than women — some bear their fate heroically, others be- 
come furious with anger and show signs of violence. One says, 
in reply to the judge's question: "They have all my property 
and my money and have tried to drive me mad. I must be in- 
sane to give all my worldly valuables to such ungrateful 
children." 

He is sentenced to the county insane asylum as are all the 
others. Oh, such a pitiful sight! Fathers and mothers who 
have given their lives for their children, children who love more 
the stipend it costs to keep them the rest of their waning lives 
than they do the loving parents who bore them, whose flesh 
and blood they are. Oh! family ties! Oh! blunted filial affec- 
tion! Oh! Christian civilization! Is there not some Savior to 
dispel this cruel selfishness? Yes! Humane Education will 
make such injustice impossible. 

The wiser future will abolish penitentiaries and have the 
workhouse, the hospital and the school in their place. 



154 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 



THE PANOLA HERD OP JERSEYS. 

One of our city dailies, in a recent issue, tells a beautiful 
story of the wife of W. B. Hunt, of Eatonton, Illinois, when 
business embarrassments caused him to sell his herd of 
Jerseys. 

His lovely and cultured wife, who had loved them, had 
made them conscious of her kindness, who had fed them 
from her own hand, and whose call they had answered from 
the pleasant plains and valleys, as their bells tinkled home- 
ward in the twilight, with tearful eyes saw them pass from her 
care into the keeping of strangers; and out of her noble heart 
she made a touching plea for them: 

" There are sentiments connected with our little Jerseys 
that will make the parting with them hard to bear for my hus- 
band and myself. The people of this county know that each 
Jersey in the herd has been reared by me. Each has its spe- 
cial name, and comes at my call. They have been my con- 
stant care for years, and are like children to me in affection and 
dependence, and I have given them almost a mother's love; 
and now that the parting time has come, I desire to plead, not 
for myself, but for them, that the stranger's hands into which 
they will now pass, may be kind and gentle, and caresses, not 
cruelty, be meted out to them. When I stand in the empty 
stalls of Panola farm, the greatest grief my heart shall know 
will be that the dumb creatures that I love so well will be be- 
yond my power of aid. Hungry and unsheltered, they may be 
standing in blinding storms or drifting snows, and blows, not 
loving touches, fall on their gentle heads, and I see the mistress 
powerless to help. And so I plead, reader of these lines, whoever 
you may be, if one of Panola's Jerseys passes into your posses- 
sion, remember that a woman's tenderness has reared it, a 
woman's care has guarded it, a woman's heart has ached over 
its loss and a woman's pen has lifted up in life's darkest hour 
to beg for it the pity she did not ask herself." 

There is a beautiful lesson in those beautiful words — a 
lesson of love and tenderness, of gentleness and sweet com- 
passion, which only the true heart of a woman could teach; 



RECITATIONS. 155 

and if the poor, dumb brutes in whose behalf that tender plea 
was made could speak their answer from the stranger's 
pastures, it would chime in sweeter cadence than the bells that 
tinkled in the dewy dawns and purple twilights, and make un- 
imagined music in a woman's heart. 

It is a long time since a more beautiful story has come to 
us. Read it to the little folks, for between those touching 
lines runs the story of true Christianity,, charity and love. 
Bring the children up to love their dumb friends, and we shall 
have many more such noble women as the one who sent out 
the plea for her voiceless pets. — American Creamery. 



A DANGEROUS IDEAL. 

BY ALFRED LEFFINGWELL, M. D. 

It seems almost incredible that at the middle of this nine- 
teenth century there was no law in America which made the 
cruel treatment of animals, in itself, a punishable offense. 
Those of us old enough to remember village life, say forty years 
ago, will recall many an act of inhumanity which then passed 
for " sport," but which to-day is a crime. I remember certain 
companions of my own boyhood, for example, all of them reg- 
ular attendants at the same village Sunday School, telling me 
of " experiments " they had made in torturing kittens and rab- 
bits, simply to watch their convulsions in the agony of death. 
If a man saw fit to pour alcohol over his dog and set him afire 
there was, indeed, protest against his brutality, but otherwise 
he was safe. The law of the land set no limits to his treatment 
of his own property. If he chose to burn it alive when its 
services were no longer of value, — who had the right to object? 

Have we changed all this? Certainly, to some extent. 
Cruelty, the needless infliction of pain, the torture for amuse- 
ment, is at last recognized, not only as an offense against good 
manners, but as an injury to the commonwealth. Humana 
Societies and Bands of Mercy now inculcate lessons of kind 
ness at the earliest age. Children are to-day taught that cru- 
elty is wicked; that there is something of sacredness in every 
life, and that mercy is due even to the worm that crawls at our 
feet. 



156 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

But is there to be seen any tendency backward at the pres- 
ent time? The infliction of slow torture upon helpless animals, 
— is this again coming into general practice and to be defended 
by argument? Is it even about to be taught to young men and 
young women as a necessity of education? This seems to me 
one of the serious questions of the hour. Man once sought to 
know his duty to his God and his fellowmen; the advanced sci- 
entific spirit of to-day sometimes asks us if, after all, we are 
quite certain we have any duties, or if we are sure that God ex- 
ists? 

What is the ideal of this phase of thought? It seems to 
me this: that in future, the chief aim of human endeavor should 
be to wrest from Nature her secrets. 

But supposing certain facts are so intimately wrapped up 
with life and sensation that we can get at them only by the in- 
fliction of acute agony, of prolonged pain? What if one who 
seeks to penetrate to the innermost sanctuary of life must un- 
learn every lesson of pity, must teach himself to take pleasure 
in the agony he inflicts, must become almost a human fiend? 

How far has this spirit of inquiry — no matter at what cost 
— penetrated American institutions of learning? Does it gov- 
ern the teaching of our schools of medicine? In schools, acad- 
emies and colleges, shall young men and young women, boys 
and girls, be taught that the new scientific ideal of investiga- 
tion for its own sake, demands a personal confirmation of every 
physiological statement? Are text-books to give way before 
the young student with his cords and knife? That is a present 
tendency, it must be confessed. 

What is to be the outcome of this new and dangerous ideal? 
I do not see how it can result in anything else than education 
in the art of scientific cruelty. By instinct nearly every lad 
born into the world is a savage; it is by training and education 
that he learns compassion and feels pity. Now suppose the 
young student is taught that to inflict pain — "to seek out a new 
fact," as Richet phrases it — is not merely excusable, but deserv- 
ing of praise? Torture then finds an apology; the inarticulate 
agony of his pet dog or rabbit will no longer shock. Like De 
Cyon of St. Petersburg, he will approach his vivisections with 
a "joyful excitement," perhaps all the more pleasurable be- 
cause aroused by the agony he inflicts. Like Mantegazza of 
Milan, he may crucify pregnant rabbits with " atrocious tor- 



RE CI T A TIONS. 1 57 

ture" (dolores atrocissimi), conducting his experiments as the 
Italian physiologist conducted his " with much pleasure and 
patience." Like Klein of London, he will learn to have "no 
regard at all " for the suffering he inflicts, because in the pro- 
gress of his investigations in torture, he "has no time, so to 
speak, for thinking what the animal may feel or suffer." 

Now, speaking as a physician, I cannot but regard this de- 
velopment of the new scientific spirit in our public schools and 
academies, with grave doubt and keen apprehension. There 
are peculiar dangers which invariably accompany investiga- 
tions like these. For nothing is more certain than that there 
may arise in some organizations a strange satisfaction or sensa- 
tion of content at the sight of agony or bloodshed, and in these 
cases a great danger, which cannot be fully explained, is close 
at hand. " I would shrink with horror," said Dr. Haughton, 
" from accustoming classes of young men to the sight of ani- 
mals under vivisection. * * Science would gain nothing, and 
the world would have let loose upon it a set of young devils." 

The State of Massachusetts once produced a boy murderer 
who took diabolic delight in cutting and stabbing children to 
death. In August, 1891, John Conway was hanged at Liverpool 
for the inexplicable murder of a little boy. Immediately after 
the drop fell his confession was read: "I was impelled to that 
crime by a murderous mania — a morbid curiosity to observe the 
process of dying! " 

A Canadian physician was executed in London in 1892 for 
murder. A number of young women, against whom he had no 
cause for malice, he had undoubtedly put to death by one of 
the most agonizing of poisons, and under guise of conferring a 
benefit, merely that in the contemplation of their suffering he 
might find pleasure and excitement. Cicero tells us that in his 
time men took their sons to gladiatorial combats in order that 
youth might learn how to die bravely when the summons came. 
Ah, if that had been the only lesson taught! A century of such 
lessons passes, and then this sight of fierce combat and bloody 
struggle has stirred into life among the Roman populace a taste 
for human agony that the mere death of gladiators could not 
satisfy; and then came the infamous exhibitions related by 
Tacitus and Suetonius — the feasting of lions upon Christian 
martyrs, and living human torches, smeared with pitch, burn- 
ing at night in the gardens of Nero. Over how much of her 



158 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

history humanity is obliged to draw the veil! Dr. Rolleston, 
Professor of Anatomy at Oxford University, but hinted at the 
truth when he told told the Royal Commission that "the sight 
of a living, bleeding and quivering organism most undoubtedly 
acts in a particular way on the nature within us " — " that lower 
nature which we possess, in common with the Carnivora!" 

I have written this as a warning of which there seems to 
me a growing need. To the practice of vivisection in medica] 
schools I do not now refer; that is a question by itself. But 
let me advise parents and teachers to be infinitely cautious be- 
fore — even in the name of science — they incur the needless risk 
of awakening the demon of cruelty in the hearts of the young. 



GETTING RID OP BEAUTY. 

BY JOY ALLISON. 

Beauty happened to have good luck, but many helpless 
pets have died of hunger, which were used in the same cruel 
way. I hope the man who dropped Beauty will have no imita- 
tors in this audience. This is the way it happened: 

Four blind, wee kittens came one day to a home whose 
master was a miser. Is there anybody who does not know 
what a miser is? I'll tell you what kind of a man this was, and 
then you will know. He loved money a great deal too much. 
He loved it better than he did his poor, patient, hard-working 
wife, for though she grew more deaf every year, he would not 
spare money to pay a doctor to cure her, nor yet buy her an 
ear trumpet, though she had often wished for one. He loved 
it better than he did his children, for he let his little girls go 
ragged and barefooted, far into the cold weather, before he 
could make up his mind to spare money to buy them shoes and 
stockings, and as for school books or children's papers, they 
scarcely dared think of, much less ask for such things. 

And he loved money better than comfort or decency, for 
he would not fix up the rickety old house they called home, 
though the wind whistled through the cracks, and the rain came 
through the roof, and the windows were stuffed with here an 
old hat, and there a bundle of rags where the glass had been 
broken out. Yet he had plenty of money in an old, iron-bound 



REC/TATIONS. 159 

chest that he kept, fast-Ibcked, under his bed. Of course, if he 
loved money so well he loved it too well to use the smallest 
fraction of a dollar for the bread and milk that the kittens would 
soon want, so he decided at once that they must be put out of 
the way. 

No matter what he did with them: — I hate to think of 
that, — but when the children, coming in from picking straw- 
berries to sell, ran pattering out, with their bare, brown feet, 
to take a look at their n^w pets, there was only a single one 
left in the nest. 

Well, all the love they would have bestowed on the four, 
these children lavished on the one remaining kitten. They 
named her Beauty, and in truth it grew into a beauty. It had 
the prettiest blue eyes that ever kitten looked out of, and a 
nice gray coat, and a pair of white stockings, and another pair 
of gray ones, and its face was white, and its ears dark gray. 

By the time the snow flew and the children got their win- 
ter shoes, it was nearly as big as its mother, but it was as play- 
ful as ever. But the bigger it grew the oftener Mr. Miser was 
heard to say, "We must get rid of that kitten. We can't af- 
ford to keep two cats." 

One day he was going to mill. He got the bags of corn 
into his sleigh, and old "Wreck o' Bones" harnessed, and 
then he called out, "Where's that kitten? Find it, Minny, 
Susan, Jane, — some on ye! I want to take it along! " 

" What are you going to do with her? You won't kill her, 
father? " poor Minny ventured to say, as she stood before him 
with the kitten snuggled up in her arms. 

" I won't kill it. Give it here. I'm a goin' to give it away 
to somebody as hain't got no cat, or 't can afford to keep two." 
Minny hugged it close for a minute, and then gave it up to her 
father, who took it with no gentle grasp, stepped into his sleigh 
and drove off, leaving a group of tearful, indignant children 
gazing after him. 

" I guess this is far enough from home so the critter won't 
find her way back," said he, when he had got almost to the 
mill. And then he dropped the kitten out of the sleigh upon 
the cold snow. "Scat there! " he shouted, and gave his old 
horse a sharp cut with the whip. " She won't lick milk for us 
any more." 

Poor Beauty looked wildly about her for a minute, and 



160 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

then she scampered, as fast as her feet could carry her, for the 
fence, the underbrush, a log, the woods, any place where she 
could hide from this great, wide, strange, white world. In the 
edge of the woods, near the mill, lived little Lottie Dean, with 
her grandmother. Lottie was a dear, loving little girl. Her 
mother had died when she could just toddle about the floor, 
and her grandmother had taken care of her ever since she could 
remember. Now the grandmother was getting old, and Lottie 
was beginning to pay her for all her love and care for her. 
She washed the dishes, swept the room, made the beds, milked 
the cows, and did a great many other things that a willing child 
of eleven years can do. 

While poor Minny, and Susan, and Jane sat toasting their 
feet at the fire, and wondering who had got their poor Beauty, 
Lottie Dean, standing at the table washing up the tea things, 
heard a faint mew at the door. She hastened to open it, but 
she saw nothing, for kitty was so much afraid that she ran into 
the dark as soon as the door opened. Lottie waited a minute 
and then shut the door. Presently the kitten mewed again, 
for hunger and cold were making her bolder. Lottie opened 
the door very softly this time, and caught sight of Beauty's 
white face and shining eyes. She hid behind the door, leaving 
it half way open. Soon Beauty crept shyly in. Then Lottie 
shut the door very quickly. When the kitten found herself a 
prisoner she was a good deal frightened at first, but by nine 
o'clock she was sitting in Lottie's lap purring her very 
loudest. It was a very good home that kitty found, and she 
stayed in it a long while, even till she was eleven years old. 
Then, the old grandmother having gone home to God, a 
thrifty young farmer came and took Lottie away to a new home, 
and Kitty went with her, and there she is to this very day. 
But that old miser is stewing in — a mighty hot climate. 



PUNISHING- THE INNOCENT FOR SPITE. 

You never get tired of trying to grow good and wise, do 
you? I presume not, but just to make you steady to that pur- 
pose, I am going to show you a picture of a very bad boy, with 
whom I am acquainted; it represents him in business which I 
am not fearful that you will engage in. 



RECITATIONS. 161 

One day last summer he got angry at one of his school- 
mates, and so, to spite him, he stole a pet kitten belonging to 
the boy, carried it into a lot back from the road, and fastened 
its tail between two fence rails, so it could not get away. 
There the poor little thing nearly starved to death, and would 
have quite done so had not its little friend found it and carried 
it home, where he nursed it and made it well again. 

"What did the boy who owned the kitten do?" 

"Well, I guess I'll have to tell you, but you need not fol- 
low his example either, because I tell it to you, for maybe it 
was not the best way." 

After he took the half-dead kitten home and fed it a saucer 
of milk, he said, " Now, kitty, stay herewith grandma, and I'll 
settle this for you." He set his palm-leaf hat on the back of his 
head and marched out at the gate like a soldier. He took retri- 
bution into his own little hands, and I suppose Sam got what 
the boys call a " licking." I do not think that kind of medicine 
does much good, but I did not feel very bad about this admin- 
istration of it. 

You will say with me that Sam was a pitiable coward; 
afraid to meet the one with whom he was angry and settle his 
trouble, so he stole a pretty, innocent kitten and tormented it 
for revenge! 

I hope every Band of Mercy member is too correct in 
principle to make the innocent suffer for the guilty. 

How unbecoming the white robes of an angel would be to 
Sam. If he were to go to the better land, in his present sorry 
state, he would want to wear striped pants and sing "Shoo 
Fly," instead of anything sweeter. 

There is plenty of work to do, and a hope of making even 
such boys as Sam angels, in time. I wonder if "Our Dumb 
Animals," which is printed to make bad children better, would 
not do him good? 

Another instance of punishing the innocent for spite oc- 
curred near my home, and is a strong argument for total de- 
pravity. 

Two townsmen quarreled about business, and anger went 
entirely beyond reason. When that happens, people are over 
the danger line, and are moral lunatics, who need immediate 
attention and repression. 



1 62 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

One party owned a span of magnificent horses, which were 
his pride, and were thoroughly cared for, after the most ap- 
proved methods. He always, on arising in the morning, went 
out to see if his beauties were all right, and gave them their 
morning food. On a certain morning, when the quarrel was 
hottest, he went as usual to the barn and found them both 
dead in their stalls. In their feed boxes was Paris green mixed 
with chopped feed. Who did it never was proved. It was 
certainly a moral degenerate who would disgrace a peni- 
tentiary. 

Think of those splendidly built, healthy horses having to 
endure the agonies of a death by poison, because, forsooth, 
two men had a quarrel, which they never knew anything about! 
That is Indian ethics. Civilized human beings ought to have 
grown out of such barbarism. 

It is wonderful to think how good sometimes grows out of 
the most loathsome things. 

When Mr. George T. Angell first began his great warfare 
against cruelty to animals it was brought into the arena of the 
present by most aggravating cases of abuse. He was a prac- 
ticing lawyer of Boston, and had planned to have the campaign 
fought, partly with his fortune, after he was dead. 

But seeing so much to be done he wisely concluded to be- 
gin at once. One case which comes under the caption of this 
recitation was a sharp spur to his conscience. 

A man near Boston, who had mortgaged his stock of cattle 
to another, quarreled with him, locked the stable door and 
starved them all to death in their stalls te prevent his getting 
his pay. There were then no laws in Massachusetts to punish 
him! No wonder Mr. Angell thought it time to work! And he 
has worked as no other man in this world has had the tact, the 
courage and the strength to labor, for the helpless everywhere. 
And what are we doing to aid and sustain the great reform? 



RE CITA TIONS. I O3 



A FAMILY QUARREL. 

BY EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 

Lean Betty was a tonguester 

Of note in olden time, 
And just to teach a moral 

I'll deck her out in rhyme. 
I cannot praise her beauty, 

For she had none at all; 
I cannot laud her virtues, 

Because they were so small. 

However, she was married 

To Long John, lank and cute, 
Who mostly held her even 

In wrangling and dispute. 
One night, not far from midnight, 

From sleep Lean Betty 'woke, 
And hearing Long John snoring 

She gave his side a poke. 

" Wake up, Lanky! and hear me! 

For I have thought a thought! 
If I should find four florins 

A young cow might be bought !" 
" So, so!'* said John, "and after, 

If she should raise a calf, 
Of all the milk and butter 

I should eat fully half!" 

"The milk is not for you, John; 

The calf must have all that, 
For when we wish to sell it 

It must be big and fat." 
"Oh, surely!" said the husband 

" But then what milk I drink 
Will not make any difference 

To cow or calf, I think." 



164 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

"It may or may not, Lanky, 

But I'll not have it done! 
Of all the milk my cow gives, 

You, Long John, shall have none. 
You cowless beggar, tell me 

Where you learned aught of cows? 
Milking the little lean goat? 

So poor it calls the crows! 

"Now, if I find the florins 

Then I the beast shall buy; 
And if a calf comes after, 

If that's not mine, say why." 
" Now hold your tongue, you vixen, 

Or I'll pinch off your nose!" 
"Whipsnapper! sneak!" cries Betty. 

" Must we then come to blows?" 

" I may not find the florins, 

Then we shall have no cow; 
And if no cow no calf, John, — 

We are two fools, I vow!" 
Then Long John, less reflective, 

Sat grimly up in bed — 
"But if you do, Lean Betty, 

I'll drink the milk," he said. 



BEN HAZZARD'S GUESTS. 

Ben Hazzard's hut was smoky and cold, 
Ben Hazzard, half-blind, was black and old, 
And he cobbled shoes for his scanty gold. 
Sometimes he sighed for a larger store 
Wherewith to bless the wandering poof; 
For he was not wise in worldly lore — 
The poor were Christ's; he knew no more. 
'Twas very little that Ben could do, 
But he pegged his prayers in many a shoe, 
And only himself and the dear Lord knew. 
Meanwhile he must cobble with all his might 



RECITATIONS. 16$ 

Till the Lord knew when — it would be all right, 

For he walked by faith and not by sight. 

One night a cry from the window came — 

Ben Hazzard was sleepy, and tired, and lame- — 

"Ben Hazzard, open!" it seemed to say. 

"Give shelter and food, I humbly pray." 

Ben Hazzard lifted his woolly head 

To listen. " 'Tis awful cold," he said, 

And his old bones shook in his ragged bed. 

"But the wanderer must be comforted." 

Out from his straw he painfully crept, 

And over the frosty floor he stepped, 

While under the door the snow-wreaths swept. 

" Come in, in the name of the Lord!" he cried, 

As he opened the door and held it wide; 

A milk-white kitten was all he spied, 

Trembling and crying there at his feet, 

Ready to die in the bitter sleet. 

Ben Hazzard, amazed, stared up and down; 

The candles were out in all the town; 

The stout house-doors were carefully shut, 

Safe bolted were all but old Ben's hut. 

" I thought that somebody called," he said; 

"Some dream or other got into my head; 

Come, then, poor pussy, and share my bed." 

But first he sought for a rusty cup, 

And gave his guest a generous sup; 

Then out from the storm, the wind and the sleet, 

Puss joyfully lay at old Ben's feet. 

Truly, it was a terrible storm, 

Ben feared he should never more be warm; 

But just as he began to be dozy, 

And puss was purring soft and cozy, 

A voice called faintly before his door: 

"Ben Hazzard, Ben Hazzard, help, I implore! 

Give drink and a crust from out your store." 

Ben Hazzard opened his sleepy eyes, 

And his full-moon face showed great surprise. 

Out from his bed he stumbled again, 

Teeth chattering with neuralgia pain, 

Caught at the door in the frozen rain. 



166 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

u Come in, in the name of the Lord," he said, 

"With such as I have thou shalt be fed." 

Only a little black dog he saw, 

Whining and shaking a broken paw. 

"Well, well," cried Ben Hazzard, "I must have 

dreamed;" 
But verily like a voice it seemed. 
"Poor creature," he added, with husky tone, 
His feet so cold they seemed like stone, 
" Thou shalt have the whole of my marrow-bone. " 
He went to the cupboard and took from the shelf 
The bone he had saved for his very self. 
Then, after binding the broken paw, 
Half dead with cold, went back to his straw; 
Under the ancient blue bedquilt he crept — 
His conscience was white, and again he slept. 
But again a voice called, both loud and clear; 
"Ben Hazzard, for Christ's sweet sake, come 

here!" 
Once more he stood at the open door, 
And looked abroad, as he looked before. 
This time, full sure 'twas a voice he heard; 
But all that he saw was a storm-tossed bird 
With weary pinion and beaten crest, 
And a red blood-stain on its snowy breast. 
" Come in, in the name of the Lord!" he said, 
Tenderly raising the drooping head, 
And, tearing his tattered robe apart, 
Laid the cold bird on his own warm heart. 



The sunrise flashed on the snowy thatch, 

As an angel lifted the wooden latch. 

Ben woke in a flood of golden light, 

And knew the voice that had called all night. 

And steadfastly gazing, without a word, 

Beheld the messenger from the Lord. 

He said to Ben, with a wondrous smile 

[ The three guests sleeping all the while], 

" Thrice happy is he that blesseth the poor. 

The humblest creatures that sought thy door, 

For Christ's sweet sake thou hast comforted.' 



RE CITA TIONS. 1 67 

"Nay, 'twas not much," Ben humbly said, 

With a rueful shake of his old gray head. 

" Who giveth all of his scanty store 

In Christ's dear name can do no more; 

Behold, the Master who waiteth for thee, 

Saith: ' Giving to them; thou hast given to me.' " 

Then, with heaven's light on his face, "Amen! 

I come in the name of the Lord," said Ben. 

"Frozen to death," the watchman said, 

When at last he found him in his bed, 

With a smile on his face so strange and bright; 

He wondered what old Ben saw that night. 

Ben's lips were silent and never told — 

He had gone up higher, to find his gold. 

— Anna P. Marshall, in Congregationalist. 



"WHOEFFER DOUCHES DOT TOG IS A 
TEAT MAN! " 

BY THE REV. CHARLES JOSIAH ADAMS. 

It was in a country where men go armed — or where they 
went armed — a dozen or more years ago, their revolvers and 
knives seeming as much a part of them as the quills are part 
of the porcupine. It was in the dining-room of a frame 
frontier hotel. There was no plaster on the walls. There 
were no laths even between the stanchions. The boards which 
covered these stanchions on the outside were of the poorest 
quality of pine. Through numerous knot-holes the sunlight 
poured in on two sides, and on the other sides glimpses of the 
desert could be had through them. There was not a tree to 
be seen for miles in that barren region. The mercury was 
away above a hundred in the dining-room. The temperature 
outside in the sun, on the hot sand, an ordinary thermometer 
Would hardly register. The pitch fairly fried out of the boards 
and ran down them. At the upper end of the dining-room was 
a bar at which could be procured " tarantula juice," as the bad 
whiskey of the region was called, and cigars which w T ere as bad 
as the whiskey, and worse, if that were possible. 

Those who sat at the tables and those who came and went 



1 68 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

to and from the bar, fairly bristled with weapons. There was 
not one of them who was not " handy with his gun. " Their 
eyes were quick. They had an alert look, not unlike that 
which the robin has, hopping across the lawn, surrounded by 
half a dozen sparrows. When entering they took in everything 
in the interior at a glance. As soon as they saw that there 
was no enemy about, their eyes would rapidly observe whatever 
was unusual. Though I was not in clerical dress, I was cleanly 
shaven, and probably other marks about me of which I was 
not aware, showed that I was a clergyman. Their eyes would 
rest on me. Then they would pass to a singular-looking 
man near me. His hair and beard were long and white. His 
brow was high and noble. His features were Semitic. He 
was evidently a Hebrew. 

With him was a fine dog — a cross, I thought, between the 
Newfoundland and the water spaniel. Presently something 
occurred which attracted the attention of everybody present, 
myself included. The dog put his forefeet on the edge of the 
table, and proceeded to feed out of the plate from which the 
master was eating. At first everybody laughed, thinking that 
it was a good joke on the Jew. But the dog was not rebuked. 
This surprised, and I must confess, somewhat disgusted me; 
for, while nobody loves the dog more than I do, I hold that 
there are places where the dog's nose has no business, and one 
of them is in my dinner plate. That is a matter of taste, how- 
ever, and I was not disposed to interfere. Others felt differ- 
ently. One of them said: 

"No more of that, Sheeny!" 

" Vat you mean ? " asked the old man. 

" Keep your dog's nose out of your plate! " 

" Dot is my pisness. " 

"I make it mine!" was the answer, and a ball from the 
speaker's revolver broke the plate from which the master and 
the dog had been jointly feeding into many pieces. 

The old man simply said: 

"Town, Rover, town! " and rose — his hand going toward 
his hip pocket, to the surprise of everybody, for though this 
was a place in- which every man was expected to take care of 
himself, the Jew is not generally a fighting man, and will st*and, 
or even lose, a good deal without resorting to his weapon. 

Some one cried: "Make him dance!" 



RECITATIONS. 169 

A revolver went off, the ball entering the floor near the old 
man's feet. Some one made as if he would kick the dog. The 
old man's revolver was out in a moment. He stood erect. His 
eyes gleamed. He suggested Moses to me. He said in a high 
but firm voice: 

"Whoeffer douches dot tog is a teat man! " 
" A dance from the circumcision! " cried the voice which 
had first suggested the dance. 

The old man bowed deferentially, even cringingly; he said: 
"If de shentleman vants me to tance, I vill do de best 
lean!" 

At this everybody laughed. I stepped forward and said: 

" I have a proposition to make. Instead of having the 

old gentleman dance, let us have him mount a table and tell us 

why he allowed his dog to eat from the same dish with him." 

This pleased the crowd, and they cried: " Speech! Speech!" 

The speech the old man made was very short and very 

simple: 

"I am a drader among de Indians. I live ofer de store. 
De store catch fire. I and mine vife and our children vere 
asleep. More! We vere smuddered by de smoke. De tog 
dried vone, dwo, dree dimes to vake me. I rouse a leedle but 
I tid not vake. Den he catch me py de cheek and pite a piece 
out. I safe de vife and de liddle vones. Now dot tog eat 
out of my blate if he vant to!" 

I proposed three cheers for the dog and his master, and 
they were given heartily; but the old man and I had to make a 
run for it to avoid burning ourselves out with "tarantula 
juice." — From Our Animal Friends. 



THE CHEMISTRY OP CHARACTER. 

BY LIZZIE DOTEN. 

John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul — 
God in his wisdom created them all. 
John was a statesman and Peter a slave, 
Robert a preacher and Paul was a knave. 
Evil or good as the case might be, 
White or colored, or bond or free, 



170 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul — 
God in his wisdom created them all. 

Out of earth's elements mingled with flame, 
Out of life's compounds of glory and shame, 
Fashioned and shaped by no will of their own, 
And helplessly into life's history thrown, 
Born by the law that compels men to be, 
Born to conditions they could not foresee, 
John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul — 
God in his wisdom created them all. 

John was the head and the heart of his State, 
Was trusted and honored, was noble and great; 
Peter was made 'neath life's burdens to groan, 
And never once dreamed that his soul was his own; 
Robert great glory and honor received, 
For zealously preaching what no one believed; 
While Paul of the pleasures of sin took his fill, 
And gave up his life to the service of ill. 

It chanced that these men in their passing away 
From earth and its conflicts, all died the same day. 
John was mourned through the length and breadth of 

the land; 
Peter fell 'neath the lash of a merciless hand, 
Robert died with the praise of the Lord on his tongue, 
While Paul was convicted of murder and hung. 
John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul — 
God in his wisdom created them all. 

Men said of the statesman — " How noble and brave." 
But of Peter alas! "He was only a slave." 
Of Robert! "Tis well with his soul, it is well," 
While Paul they consigned to the torments of hell. 
Born by one law, through all nature the same, 
What made them differ and who was to blame? 
John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul — 
God in his wisdom created them all. 

Out in that region of infinite light 
Where the soul of the black man is pure as the 
white — 



RE CITA TIONS. 1 71 

Out where the spirit, thro* sorrows made wise, 
No longer resorts to deception and lies — 
Out where the flesh can no longer control 
The freedom and faith of the God-given soul, 
Who shall determine what change shall befall 
John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul? 

John may in wisdom and goodness increase, 

Peter rejoice in an infinite peace, 

Robert may learn that the truths of the Lord 

Are more in the spirit and less in the word, 

And Paul may be blest with a holier birth 

Than the passions of men had allowed him on earth. 

John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul — 

God in his wisdom will care for them all. 



OHRISTEL AND A LOST DOG. 

BY EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 

"Run! Run! Run to little Christel. There she is! under 
the old oak tree on the lawn! and there is a strange dog play- 
ing with her! Who knows but he is mad? Dear, dear! Chris- 
tel! Christel, darling! Come to mamma!" 

The little toddler looked up a moment, then, dragging her 
hat by one string, ran off, calling, "Turn, doggie, tatch dis! 
Ain't dis fun, doggie?" Pat, the errand boy, heard Mrs. Car- 
son's agitated cry, and dropping a basket of potatoes which he 
had just brought from the market, spilling them into a blossom- 
ing bed of verbenas, he bounded off like a ball after the 
golden-haired pet of the household. 

" Hould on there, baby! What the divil are ye up to? — 
scarin' yer poor mither to death along wid that yaller pup! 
Dragin' yer new hat fer that baste to set his nasty teeth into! 

" Get out, ye varmin! There's a club for ye! Sic! Get 
out! Go home! Lost dogs don't get our baby to play wid! 
Be gone! You yaller baste! The mischief's in ye, Christel, 
to do the likes o' this; look at yer two blue shoes, wet clean to 
yer skin chasin' that ornary pup, that yer grandpa and yer 
uncle Fritz and everybody in the village has driv' off, and 



172 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

clubbed fer the past two days! He's a lost dog, and ye must let 
'im alone! Stop kickin' yer feet, an pokin' yer fingers into me 
ears, baby! Ain't ye 'shamed to scare yer mither into a 
tantrum?" 

1 ' Pitty doggie! Christel 'ikes him. He eated Christel's 
cakie, too! Oo naughty Pat! Poor — 'ittle — lost — doggie! No 
place to do!" 

Pat set the little girl down in the hall, where her mother 
caught her up, kissed her and carried her into the nursery, 
where her best doll was lying in her lovely dress and fashion- 
able hat, but lacking that most attractive quality of being 
alive. 

There is really a lack of reciprocity which even a child 
senses in playing with an inanimate object. The play must 
all be on one side and it soon grows tiresome. It would be 
rather uninteresting for us grown-ups to visit all day with a 
room full of dummies, even if they were draped in beautiful 
clothes and satisfied our eyes. But we cannot see any reason 
why a little girl should not be satisfied with a family of dolls 
which are entirely unresponsive to her. 

The lo§t dog which had been guilty of playing with little 
Christel, and sharing her lunch under the old oak tree, was a 
buff collie which had been stolen from his master and kept at 
the end of a chain without regular feeding and little drink for 
almost two weeks, that he might "get wonted." 

He was stolen from a thrifty farmer, who had reared him 
from the size of a half-grown kitten to a bright, intelligent dog, 
whose principal business was to escort the cows in from the 
pastures to the milking yards and to see that nothing got into 
mischief. He always had his three meals, as regular as the 
family; his drinking dish was never empty; he always slept in 
the house and had never known anything but kindness until he 
was stolen by a boy tramp, who heard his master refuse $25 
for him when a sheep drover offered it. 

"I'll steal him and then sell him to the gentleman," 
thought the thief. He'll never know it is the same dog. 
Twenty-five dollars will treat me to whiskey a long time," 
thought he. 

Oh, what a sorry time poor Crusoe had, following that 
coarse, disagreeable dog-thief, with a rope around his neck, 
when he had been used to such good company all his life. If 



RE CITA TIONS. 1 73 

he saw a cool stream of water and wanted to stop and drink he 
was hauled along and scolded. When a saloon was seen he 
was hitched to the fence while his unlawful controller went in 
to soak himself. 

" Oh, if I could only be home at the trough and drink all 
I want," thought Crusoe; "I'm so homesick to see my old 
master, and wouldn't a nice dinner at the kitchen door taste 
good? I'm so faint and tired and homesick! I wonder where 
I am? and who this is who has me, and what he is going to do 
with me, and when I'll get home to my good friends, who 
never would starve me this way!" 

It was one hot afternoon when Toughie Jones had hitched 
poor Crusoe to the gatepost while he went in to drink whisky 
in a country saloon, that something good happened. 

He was whining in his misery and want, wishing he were 
dead, when a bright, wide-awake girl came whistling towards 
him and gave him a big piece of meat and some bread. 

" Such torture as that needs a little interference; and I'm 
not afraid to loose that dog! I'll stand the fuss if anybody 
should see me." So saying she unfastened the chain. 

"Now, old fellow, run for your life!" 

Crusoe shot away like an arrow and never saw Toughie 
Jones again, but he did not know where he was, nor how to 
get home. 

It was while he was hunting his own dear home, that he 
found little Christel under the old oak tree, and after a sweet 
few moments with her — the first he had had since he was stolen 
— was driven off with clubs by Pat. 

The day was drawing to a close. The dark shadows were 
settling down over the earth as the sun went down behind the 
distant mountains. The birds sought their sleeping places and, 
■ — where was Christel? Asleep, maybe, somewhere. "Chris- 
tel! Christel!" No answer. 

" Christel, answer mamma! Where are you, Christel?" No 
answer. 

The family, Pat ahead, went out searching her, and were 
soon able to discern her tracks leading out of the gateway on 
toward the beach. This only increased their alarm. 

The little footprints were lost at intervals, and again 
traced up and down several small canyons, showing they were 



174 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

searching a way to the main road, but found the rocks too high 
to climb. 

When about three-quarters of a mile from her home the 
yellow collie, the lost dog, came bounding out of the rocks, 
barking, and showing that he wished to be followed. " There's 
that yaller pup again," screamed Pat. " Drat him!" 

"He is trying to attract our attention, — follow, follow !" 
gasped the mother. 

It was now dark, but a lantern aided in the search. 
Quickly they followed Crusoe — he was a gleam of hope. 

The direction the dog had taken led to a hole of consider- 
able depth in the side of the bank. In it was little Christel, 
crying, her arms clasped around the faithful animal's neck. 
No doubt the warmth from his body would have carried her 
through the night if she had not been found. 

The lost dog was as lovely an object to that alarmed 
family at that moment as he had been terrific in the morning. 
Pat fairly hugged him while Christel was kissed and cried over 
by the others. 

The lost child and the lost dog sympathized in their 
sorrow; and that night Crusoe had a warm supper and 
slept in the house as he used to in his old home. He was wel- 
come to everything at the Carson home. He was adopted and 
will be tenderly cared for the rest of his life, because of his 
intelligent help to the lost child. 

At his old farm home the good family often say, " I 
wonder what did become of Crusoe! He was a noble dog! " 
But the lost dog could never tell them, if he should see them, 
for he is one of nature's dumb noblemen. 



THE PENALTY OP FORGETFULNESS. 

DROWNED. 
[A costume recitation, personating an old woman, insane 
from grief.] 

I'm searching, searching everywhere 

For one I cannot find! 
I'm Susan, with the wandering eye 

And long-bewildered mind. 
All up and down the shining sands 



RE CITA TIONS. ' 75 

With eager step I go 
And speak with hesitating voice, 
Not knowing friend from foe. 

Oh ! have you seen my pretty boy, 

My little baby brother? 
She left him to me when she died 

And bade me be his mother — 
Our mother! — She frowns out of Heaven 

On me — ah! once she smiled; 
So I go searching night and day 

Until I find her child. 

"Tis a few weeks ago — ah, me! 

It seems a thousand years! 
I laid him on the soft warm sand 

Asleep, and had no fears. 
I only went a little way, 

And sat behind that stone, 
Writing to William Beverly, 

Who is to India gone. 

He will come back and marry me, 

He says, in two years more; 
I shall be then but just eighteen 

And he scarce twenty-four. 
But can he marry me? Poor me 

Who have been hanged? I mean 
They should have hanged me, and perhaps 

Somebody told the Queen! 

And she said — what, I do not know. 

I think I slept — or died — 
And woke up in a world of dreams 

Most horrible and wide. 
I did not kill the boy! No! no! 

I only left him here — 
Forgot him — and the tide flowed in, 

And stole the pretty dear! 

Not guilty! oh! my Lord, my Lord, 
Not guilty!— I am wild! — 



176 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

I only let him float away 

And drown — my mother's child! 

And so my mother made them shut 
On me the prison door, 

Till I was dead! dead! — yet, it seems, 
I — am — alive — once — more ! 

I walk along the shining sands — 

I hear his shout of joy! 
I know I'll find him very soon, 

My little darling boy! 
There! — there he is! — up in God's land. 

He calls me! — bids me come! 
And mother, — she is calling, too, 

"Come home, poor child, come home." 

— Adapted from Harper's Magazine. 



WHAT IS OVERLOADING A HORSE, AND HOW 

PROVED? 

BY CEO. T. ANCELL. 

The following, taken from " Bishop on Statutory Crimes." 
edition of 1873, page 689, is believed to be sound law, the 
world over, on the above subject. 

It was written by Mr. Angell in reviewing a decision of a 
Massachusetts court in 1868, that there was no cruelty, because 
other horses of the same weight were able to draw the load in 
question. It was the first and last decision of the kind ever ren- 
dered in Massachusetts. 

"Must an animal be worked until he breaks a bloodvessel 
or drops dead, before the law takes cognizance? Is "the horse 
to be strained, or worked to the extreme limit of his strength, 
before such straining or working becomes a cruelty (that is, 
before the act of his master becomes 'overloading')? Can an 
expert, or any number of experts, say what is the limit of 
strength or endurance of any horse, simply by knowing his 
weight? It seems to me that these questions can be easily an- 
swered. Horses, like men, are of different ages, constitutions, 



'RECITATIONS. 177 

temperaments, formation and degrees of strength. One horse, 
just like one man, may be twice as fast, twice as tough, twice 
as strong, as another of precisely the same weight; and inas- 
much as horses, like men, are liable to a great variety of sick- 
nesses, and suffer, just like men, from previous overworking 
and from heat, want of proper rest, food, water, shelter and care, 
it follows that the same horse, like the same man, may be able 
to perform without injury more labor in one day than another. 

" Can a thousand experts prove that all men of a given 
weight or size are equally competent, on every day of the year, 
to perform a given labor? Can their testimony establish how 
much of a load a man of given weight should carry, and how 
far he should carry it on a given day, without regard to whether 
the man is old or young, sick or well, strong or weak, tough 
or tender, already tired or rested, full-fed or starved, or the 
day hot or cold? And does not precisely the same reason ap- 
ply to the horse — that what one horse can do one day has no 
force in showing what another ought to do on another day, un- 
less you show the weather, age, strength, toughness and bodily 
condition of the two to be precisely similar? I say, then, that 
it is just as impossible for any number of experts, knowing only 
the weight or size of a horse and nothing of his age, health, 
strength, toughness and bodily condition, to establish what is, 
or is not, overloading him, as it would be, knowing only the 
size or weight of a man, and nothing of his age, health, 
strength, toughness or bodily condition, to establish what is or 
is not an overload for him. 

"How, then, are we to determine when a horse is over- 
loaded? Just exactly and precisely as we determine when a 
man is overloaded. First, we are to take his own evidence. If 
a man stops and says, * I am overloaded, I am working too 
hard, I feel that the task put upon me is too heavy/ that is 
evidence. So when the horse, ordinarily kind and willing to 
pull, comes with a heavy load to a rise of land and, after one 
or two efforts, stops and says, as plainly as words can speak it, 
< I am overloaded, I am working too hard, I feel that the task 
put upon me is too heavy,' that is evidence; and there is no 
court or jury, or man with the heart of a man, who will not 
recognize it as such. Besides, the signs of overwork are just 
as visible in the horse as the man. No magistrate or juror 
would have any difficulty in deciding in his own mind whether 



178 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

a case to which his attention might be attracted in our public 
streets was or was not a case of cruelty. 

"Is not, then, the testimony of competent, intelligent and 
credible bystanders, who see how the horse looks and acts, and 
his bodily condition, health and capability to perform the labor 
required, the best evidence that can possibly be obtained? 
Where can you get better? And when disinterested and intel- 
ligent witnesses, who are present and see and hear all that is 
said and done in a given case, voluntarily leave their ordinary 
avocations and come into court to testify that they are fully 
satisfied that the case is a clear case of cruelty, can such evi- 
dence be overbalanced by that of any number of experts who 
are not present, see nothing that occurs, know nothing of the 
age, health, strength, or bodily condition of the horse at the 
time, and who base their calculations simply upon the avoirdu- 
pois weight of the animal? It is perfectly evident, then, I say, 
that the highest and best evidence which any court or jury can 
ask or possibly obtain in a case of overloading, overworking 
or overdriving is the evidence of the horse himself, as inter- 
preted by those present when the cruelty is inflicted. 

" Cruelty begins very far short of taking the extreme 
strength of the animal. God has given to men and animals an 
excess of strength, to be husbanded carefully and used occa- 
sionally. But to task that strength to its full limit unnec- 
essarily is against nature, breaks down the man or the animal 
before his or its time, and is a cruelty against which men, 
having speech and reason, may protect themselves, but against 
which animals, having neither speech nor reason like men, 
must look to them for protection." 



SWEET REVENGE! 
" I'll kill you for that when I'm a man ! " 

The coffin was only of deal; no blossoms were scattered there; 

No lining of satin concealed the timber so rude and bare: 

Though the beautiful golden locks were combed from her care- 
worn face, 

There was never a rag of linen shroud, nor a scrap of common 
lace. 



RE CITA TIONS. 179 

A boy of tender years approached where the dead lay in the 

room; 
With sobbing heart and fevered eyes he entered the place of 

gloom. 
" I want to see her face once more — my mother's dear face," 

he cried; 
" Oh! let me see her but once again — would God that she had 

not died!" 
" Away! " said the workhouse joiner, " away! and do as I bid; 
Get out! do you hear? " he shouted, as he closed the coffin lid. 
" I can't be stopped by such brats as you," and he strode to- 
wards the door. 
"D'ye think we're agoin' to mind the whims of blubb'rin' 

pauper poor? " 
"Only a minute! "the orphan cried, "a minute for one last 

look!" 
He tightly clung to the parish box, and every fibre shook. 
But the callous wretch, with curses, struck the panting child a 

blow 
That sent him reeling against the wall, with all his cheeks 

aglow; 
Aglow with indignation, and a fire in his flashing eyes: 
" I'll kill you for that when I'm a man, sure as the day shall 

rise!" 
The undertaker turned to the boy with scoff and careless grin, 
But he blanched as he met those eyes, and the look that 

gleamed within! 



The years have sped, with many a change; a court is now the 
scene; 

With hang-dog looks a culprit stands in the dock with craven 
mien. 

"Is the man there undefended?" asked the justice, uncon- 
cerned; 

And presently a counsel rose, on whom all eyes were turned. 

" My lord, I'm for the prisoner here! " And a voice the silence 
broke. 

Whose tones were full of eloquence, and with confidence he 
spoke; 

And when he urged his argument his influence increased— 



x8o ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

For his pleading power was matchless — and the culprit was 

released. 
The man accused, so broken down with anxious care and fear. 
Approached his unknown advocate, with thanks and many a 

tear; 
"Nay, thank me not," the counsel said, it was not my will that 

moved, 
But one whose coffin once you closed, and who always mercy 

loved." 
"You drove me from her coffined face, when that face I prayed 

to kiss, 
And I vowed in rage, though but a child, a fearful vow — 'twas 

this: 
I vowed to kill you when a man — to fury by you driven — 
But the spirit of my mother cried, ' Forgive and be forgiven !' " 
***** 

Then the guilty creature bowed his head and went upon his 

way. 
And lived repentant of the past, and he ne'er forgot that day; 
But the boy who once resolved to kill, rejoiced, as seasons ran, 
That he had saved a soul alive, and had not killed a man. 

— Bernard Batigan. 



PRAYING FOR SHOES. 

A TRUE INCIDENT. 

On a dark November morning, 

A lady walked slowly down 
The thronged, tumultuous thoroughfare 

Of an ancient seaport town. 

Of a winning and gracious beauty, 
The peace on her pure young face 

Was soft as the gleam of an angel's dream 
In the calms of a heavenly place. 

Her eyes were fountains of pity, 
And the sensitive mouth expressed 

A longing to set the kind thoughts free 
In music that filled her breast. 



RECITATIONS. i8t 

She met, by a bright shop-window, 

An urchin, timid and thin, 
Who, with limbs that shook and a yearning !ool< 

Was mistily glancing in 

At the rows and varied clusters 

Of slippers and shoes outspread; 
Some shimmering keen, some of sombre sheen, 

Some purple and green and red. 

His pale lips moved and murmured, 

But of what she could not hear; 
And oft on his folded hands would fall 

The round of a bitter tear. 

"What troubles you, child?" she asked him- 

In a voice like the May-wind sweet. 
He turned, and while pointing dolefully 

To his naked and bleeding feet — 

"I was praying for shoes;" he answered, 

"(Just look at the splendid show!) 
I was praying to God for a single pair, 

The sharp stones hurt me so! " 

She led him, in museful silence, 

At once through the open door; 
And his hope grew bright, like a fairy light 

That flickered and danced before. 

And there he was washed and tended, 

And his small brown feet were shod; 
And he pondered there on his childish prayer 

And the marvelous answer of God. 

Above them his keen gaze wandered, 

How strangely from shop and shelf, 
Till it almost seemed that he fondly dreamed 

Of looking on God himself. 

The lady bent over and whispered — 

"Are you happier now my lad?" 
He started, and all his soul flashed fortb 

In a gratitude swift and giao. 



x82 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

" Happy? Oh, yes! I am happy! " 

Then (wonder with reverence rife, 
His eyes aglow, and his voice sunk low), 

" Please tell me! Are you God's wife? n 

— Paul Hamilton Hayne. 



PREMATURE BURIALS. 

BY A. E. GILES, A. M. 

Humane education covers a wide field, and the lessons we 
must teach are not always agreeable ones. They may be ex- 
tremely necessary, and also so shocking that we would gladly 
pass them by, did we not aim to prevent suffering by increas- 
ing knowledge. 

The subject of premature burial is a gruesome one. It 
makes us shiver and grow cold in the middle of the night, when 
we uneasily turn on our pillows in the darkness, and think over 
all possible misfortunes. The possibility of being "buried 
alive" seems most horrible of all deplorable fates. 

Statistics show that it is not a rare occurrence, and that 
there is criminal carelessness in determining by tests whether 
death is real or apparent. 

Humane education demands that light be thrown upon this 
ghastly subject, and that the helpless victims, apparently dead, 
but still not dead, be given the test which is most conclusive, 
the only infallible one, before they are prisoned in a coffin and 
buried in some lone cemetery. The body should be kept in a 
room, the temperature of which has been raised to a heat of 84 
degrees Fahrenheit, with moisture diffused through the air; and 
in this warm, moist atmosphere should remain until distinct 
indications of putrefactive decomposition have set in. If they 
do not occur in such an atmosphere, you may be sure the help- 
less, prostrate person is not dead. 

Have patience. Go on with the duties of life the same as 
you would if he were on a bed of sickness, and wait. Do not 
feel that you and all your neighbors must do nothing else un- 
til the presumed corpse is buried from your sight. This aban- 
doning all business makes haste in interment, and it is unwise 
and uncomfortable. Keep 'up the warmth and moisture and 



RECITATIONS. 183 

let the stricken one have the room until it is demonstrated that 
life is extinguished. It is not more than you would want done 
for you in like circumstances. 

When we neglect precaution against a fate so terrible, our 
mourning seems a mockery. Carelessness is not innocent. Ig- 
norance even, is akin to crime. 

Dr. Hartmann has collected over seven hundred authenti- 
cated cases of premature burial. Most of these cases are those 
which were discovered at, or before burial. Sometimes per- 
sons have revived when brought to the dissecting table, or when 
the embalmer has commenced his process; or when graveyards 
have been removed, it is often told with bated breath, how 
someone was found turned over, face down in the coffin, or in 
distorted positions, as if a struggle and defeat had occurred 
in the narrow house in the dust. What a lonely fight for life! 
Did they cry the names of their loved ones? Our names — and 
we could not help them! But we might have prevented such 
an awful tragedy if we had known enough. Let us henceforth 
know, and never neglect our duty to the presumed dead. Let 
us know they are indeed dead before we place them in cold 
rooms or colder graves. Emma Rood Tuttle sa}'s: 

"When I was a child one of my schoolmates, Louise Bar- 
num, of Braceville, Ohio, jumped a skipping-rope one hundred 
and fifty times consecutively, and dropped down lifeless, to all 
appearance. But her cheeks were red, her body limp and de- 
composition did not occur. She was kept for many days with- 
out change. An artist was brought to paint her portrait, but 
she did not revive, nor did she show the death signs. The 
whole neighborhood was going and coming; the family was in 
intense excitement and finally little Louise was buried. What 
happened after that no mortal knows. I hope she slept. I do 
not believe she was dead, I believe the M. D. who advised her 
burial committed a crime against knowledge. 

The following instance of premature burial is really heart- 
rending: 

A young and beautiful wife and mother died, and was placed 
in the family vault. It was fifteen years before another mem- 
ber passed away. When the door was unlocked to admit the 
new comer, behold! a skeleton lay at the door, and the casket 
in which the beautiful lady had been placed was empty. 

How can life be endured when such revelations are forced 



1 84 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

on loving hearts? God pity those who made the mistake! Let 
us never do the like of it. 

A well-authenticated case is recorded of a strong man 
dropping away suddenly, whose grave, or tomb, was opened 
four days after, and the body found twisted 'round in the coffin, 
a hip dislocated, the hair turned white and torn out, and the 
features distorted in a horrible manner. That strong man had 
a death-struggle with every odds against him. 

But I will not horrify you with instances further than is 
necessary to awaken you to a resolution, which I trust we may 
all keep. Let us not turn our presumably dead from their 
homes to the cemeteries until we give them the only unfailing 
test of death, time for decomposition to assure us their suffer- 
ings are over. Let us not go by what our neighbors say, nor 
the doctors, nor the undertaker; let us hold for the one certain 
test, which every one can decide without professional aid. 

If we do not resolve to protect each other, there is no pro- 
tection to any of us from this peril. 

We exhaust our energies by overwork, by excitement, by 
habits which hasten The Three Sisters in the springing of the 
fatal thread. Apoplexy, Palsy, Catalepsy, may prostrate us at 
any moment in the mad race of life. Time! time! give us time 
to die before you bury us to finish the struggle underground. 



SUPERSTITIOUS CRUELTY. 

The most degrading, abominable and superstitious cruel- 
ties are practiced in the names of science and religion. Time 
was, under the Inquisition, w T hen men and women were torn, 
racked and tortured by every conceivable device that fiendish 
ingenuity could conceive, to inflict pain and suffering; and it was 
claimed to be done in the interest of religion and the salvation 
of the souk Now vivisectors claim that, in the interest of 
science and the salvation of the bodies of men, women and 
children, they must practice similar horrible tortures and 
monstrous cruelties on dumb animals. 

T. A. Williams, of 48 Martin St., St. Paul's, Bristol, 
England, thus describes what he witnessed in one of the 
chambers of torture, at the Animal Inquisition, of Pasteur, in 
Paris. 



RECITATIONS. 185 

"As I go out of the courtyard at the other angle to which I 
entered, I hear the sound of a howling dog coming from a room 
over whose door I read, * Directeur des Travaux de Physio- 
logic' I enter, but my admission is challenged by two pro- 
fessors and two assistants; my card is again presented, and 
I am allowed to remain. The dog, a large Newfoundland, is 
already bound securely to the table by strong cords to each of 
his legs; he struggles violently and shakes and rocks the heavy 
table, but to no purpose; he cannot escape. At his side one of 
the professors is injecting chloral, which is no true anaesthetic. 
Presently a knife is taken, the skin of the animal is cut carefully 
open down to the skull; but what is that curious instrument 
in the assistant's hands? He heats it at a gas jet, and a current 
is set in motion that produces a red heat at the top, and with 
this he sears the flesh of the mutilated animal; the electric 
cautery thus prevents the lacerated creature from mercifully 
bleeding to death. 

" I had never expected to smell the burning flesh of a living 
animal, and it came to me that day with a terribly new expe- 
rience. A brass plate was screwed upon the skull of the animal, 
and a hole was made through to the brain with a circular saw, 
and into this hole was poured an electrict current from a battery 
on the other table. Look to it or the dog, a very powerful one, 
will escape, all bleeding and torn as he is! With the plunging 
of the animal, the whole arrangement of screws, etc., have be- 
come unfastened; two men hold him, and they fit the plate 
again and turn more currents of electricity into that brain. 
Will he never die? I think to myself, and my impulse is to 
end its misery with my pocket knife, but no, that will never 
do, and so I watched for two hours these infamies perpetrated 
in the name of science. 

"I never could have believed, had I not heard it, that it 
was possible for any animal to express human anguish as that 
one did through that time of torture. The dog groaned as I 
should have groaned; the thing is simply indescribable. I 
wish those groans could be heard for five minutes by every 
English man and woman; if so, vivisection would be prohibited 
by the concensus of our common humanity. 

"This Inquisition is in our midst to-day, only it is one of 
science, and every good man and woman who can realize its 



1 86 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

work in all its naked truth and hideousness will be against its 
remaining with us. It is infamous in its morale — some experts 
say dangerous — and misleading in its science, and the people 
must make it illegal." — Anti- Vivisection. 



KINDNESS TO ANIMALS IN SCHOOLS AND SUN- 
DAY-SCHOOLS. 

BY GEO. T. ANGELL. 

What is the use of teaching kindness to animals in schools 
and Sunday-schools? 

The eminent French teacher, De Sailly, says that when he 
began to teach kindness to animals, he found his pupils be- 
came not only kinder to animals, but also kinder to each other. 

In the large Scottish public schools at Edinburg, out of 
about seven thousand pupils carefully taught kindness to 
lower animals, it was found that not one had ever been charged 
with criminal offense in any court. Out of two thousand crim- 
inals inquired of in American prisons, some years ago, it was 
found that only twelve had any pet animals during their child- 
hood. 

Edward Everett Hale says: "We are all in the same 
boat, both animals and men. You cannot promote kindness 
to one without benefiting the other. 

Rev. Dr. Hedge, of Harvard University, writes of our 
humane educational work: " I greatly approve of your enter- 
prise, which seems to me the best charity of the day." 

Francis E. Willard writes: "I look upon your mission as 
a sacred one, not second to any found in the name of Christ. '' 

Catharine Smithies, of England, writes: " I think the teach- 
ing to be kind to the lower animals is preparing the way for 
the gospel of Christ." 

What has made the Quakers humane? 

How happened it that while all the other American Colo- 
nies were at war with the Indians, the Quakers, under William 
Penn, alone maintained with them the most peaceful relations? 
- Is there anything, which strikes more directly at the roots 
of wars, riots, anarchy, and every form of cruelty, than humane 



RECITATIONS. 187 

education of the children in all our public, private, and Sun- 
day schools? 

If you admit that humane education of the children is a 
good thing, the next question is how to accomplish it. 

Can you do it by telling children they ought to be good? 

Can you do it by telling them they ought to love God, of 
whom many of them know but very little? 

Can you do it by telling them they ought to love fathers 
and mothers, many of whom are anything but lovable? 

Can you do it by telling them to love inanimate objects, 
like trees and flowers, which cannot show gratitude or return 
affection? 

Please think and tell me if you can find a better way under 
heaven for making children merciful than by teaching them to 
be constantly doing kind acts and saying kind words to God's 
lower creatures, by whom they are surrounded, and which they 
are meeting on the streets and elsewhere a hundred times 
a day. 

Please think again and tell me another thing, namely, 
whether every kind act we do and every kind word we speak, 
which adds to the happiness of others, does not also add to 
our own happiness; and when we teach the boy or girl to be 
doing those kind acts and saying these kind words a hundred 
times a day to the lower animals, are we not teaching what will 
make their own lives happier? 

Is it not then desirable to introduce this teaching into our 
schools? 

And will not Sunday-schools be more attractive to children 
if some part of their time is given to the good, noble and mer- 
ciful thoughts and deeds of this nineteenth century, as set forth 
in the humane literature now being widely published? 

Now, if we find that humane teachings ought to be made 
a part of the instruction in our schools and Sunday-schools, 
and that no better way has thus far been devised than to in- 
clude in those teachings the teaching of kindness to the lower 
animals, how can we best teach it? 

I answer: We have formed already in America over ten 
thousand ''Bands of Mercy." 

They are in every State and Territory but Alaska — some of 
them in places as far distant as China and Japan, 



1 88 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

We teach in them, by pictures, song and story, kindness 
both to our own race and to every harmless living creature. 

They can be formed in any school or Sunday school in ten 
minutes. It costs nothing to form them, and only as much or 
little time as is found profitable need be given to them. 

Immediately on their formation our "American Humane 
Education Society " gives to each band, without cost for one 
year, itsmonthly paper, "Our Dumb Animals," full of humane 
stories, poems and information, and a complete outfit of hu- 
mane literature sufficient for all the meetings that may be held 
during the year, and full directions and suggestions. 

In conclusion, then, please carefully consider: 

i st. Whether you can find anything more likely to pre- 
vent cruelty and bring happiness into the lives of those taught 
than humane education? 

2d. Whether you can find any better plan of humane ed- 
ucation than that which includes teaching children to do kind 
acts and speak kind words to those that always show gratitude 
for kindness and return love for love? 

3d. Whether you can find any cheaper or better way to 
begin than by simply forming a " Band of Mercy," whose only 
pledge is, "I will try to be kind to all harmless living creatures 
and to protect them from cruel usage;" and receive from our 
"American Humane Education Society," for each band, a full 
outfit of humane literature for one year without cost? 

With one more thought I close. If it is certain that the 
prevention of domestic and foreign wars and every form of 
cruelty in the future is to depend largely on the humane edu- 
cation we now give the children in our public, private and 
Sunday schools, is it not equally certain that the future 
strength and vitality of all benevolent societies and institutions 
for the prevention and relief of human suffering is to depend 
largely on this same humane education? 



RECITA TIOJVS. 189 



OLD NELL. 
BY EMMA ROOD TUTTLE. 

" Nelly was a lady." Indeed she was, from her trim legs 
and neat hoofs to her small ears, which talked as do expres- 
sive eyes, when her intelligent brain had a message to make 
known. 

I say " Nelly was a lady," for she is now something of the 
past. She died this morning. She kept handsome and glossy 
to the last moment of her life. She was thirty years old, but 
looked no more than ten, people said. This morning when I 
went to see about her she could not rise; she had lost the use 
of her limbs. She neighed to me, drank the water I carried 
her, but seemed to know it was all over with her. She was 
infirm, but only showed it by being weak. 

We knew she could hardly get through another winter, 
even with the best of ground feed and extra care; but when we 
saw that she was paralyzed and must linger and suffer, I had a 
promise I made to her owner on his deathbed executed. It 
was this: " Emma, when Nelly gets so old she can not eat 
well nor get around comfortably, I want you to see that she is 
mercifully shot and is buried on the old farm. Will you promise 
me? You know Nelly and I are old friends, and I can't bear 
to die and leave her! But I can trust you; will you see the old 
mare through to a quiet rest?*' 

"Yes," I said, "if I outlive her your wishes shall be carried 
out. I love her and will myself care for her. Do not let that 
trouble you. Nelly shall have everything she wants, and be 
treated like a lady." He thanked me over and over again; he 
knew it would be as he wished, now there was nothing to 
keep him longer. I often felt that his angel eyes were 
looking on well pleased when I was caring for old Nell dur- 
ing the six years she survived him. And now her useful life 
is over. Grandpa "broke " her himself, and she never needed 
nor felt whip Dr spur. She was spirited and handsome to 
the last. 



i go ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

How well I remember seeing her come down the street- 
she was coal black, only she had white feet and a white face 
-—drawing a carriage in which were seated the old couple who 
owned her and thought she was "the greatest horse on earth." 
She stepped so daintily, and always neighed when she reached 
the gate to let us know who had come. The little spotted dog, 
Ring, trotted behind and joined his bark with her whinny. 
How glad we all were to see them! Nelly was always watered, 
put into the company stable, where she was fed on the best the 
farm afforded; golden corn, sweet apples, oats, and although 
grandpa would always say, "Don't feed her too much, Emma," 
you could see joy in his dear old eyes to have his old horse 
treated just as considerately as he was. She was one of the 
lucky horses which never knew want nor abuse. 

Several times after her owner died men came to try to buy 
her; she was old, and they wanted a cheap horse. It shocked 
me, but I remembered how cruel most people are about selling 
old horses, and how silly they consider it to refuse money for 
an old family servant like old Nell. So I said placidly: " She is 
owned by an angel in heaven, and he left her in my care 
when he left this world. She is not to be sold, but to live in 
ease and be cared for lovingly, as every old servant ought 
to be." 

When that cannot be, let them be given a resting place on 
the field of their labor, and not turned out to die by inches 
by endeavoring to gnaw some innutritious straw-stack, with 
toothless jaws. I am not one to say with a writer in the 
Detroit Free Press: 

Aye, sell the old horse, if you will 

For he is broken down 
And weak with years — why care for that? 

There's plenty in the town 
To take his place, to do his work, 

To go the pace he went 
By day or night, in rain or shine, 

Until his strength was spent. 

He never stopped to reason why, 
To ask that this be done, 



RE CITA TIONS. I $i 

Or that; he knew his duty, 

He did it on the run, 
He served his master as he best 

Knew how to serve — and now 
Go sell him; he is loyal and 

Will ask not why or how. 

A horse is not a sentiment; 

He cannot think, or speak, 
Or vote; then why protect him when 

He's worthless, old and weak? 
For him no starry banner floats 

On every breeze that blows; 
For him no pension comforts come 

When years his labors close. 

Aye, sell the old horse, if you will; 

He will not ask you why, 
Nor make complaint when he is turned 

Adrift to starve and die; 
But faithful in his labors still 

As when they were begun, 
He will not care; he is content 

With duty bravely done. 

This bit of sarcasm may be a mirror held up for somebody 
t> behold himself reflected in, but I suppose it is for none 
of you, dear readers. 

If in reading these lines you are glad to know one horse 
had a pleasant life and went down peacefully to rest on the 
brown bosom of our mother earth, remember there are mill- 
ions which are cruelly treated, and do all you can to educate 
those about you to treat with kindness all harmless creatures, 
and to protect them from cruel usage. 

Good-bye, old Nell! There is a cold winter coming, and 
there will be no grass, nor flowers, nor leaves on the trees to 
cast a pleasant shade, but only dreariness and desolation on 
the old farm. But you will not have to see it, Nelly; you are 
done with all that unpleasantness. When summer comes 
again there will be a little spot in the old north lot where the 
corn will spread broader and darker green banners because 



192 ANGELL PRIZE-CONTEST 

you were buried there, and other lives will be nourished by 
the golden ears which will grow where you returned dust to 
dust — dust which was once a spirited black Andalusian horse, 
owned by a man who returned her honest attachment to him, 
and there was mutual fidelity, as there should be. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRES! 

-"Ill III 



II 

027 279 736 



